


The Demon's Curse

by staringatstars



Category: Gintama
Genre: Bad Future, Fights, Friendship, Gen, Gintama: Yorozuya Yo Eien Nare, Joui 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, visiting your friends is a good thing. Other times, it just infinitely screws up their already screwed up lives. Story takes place in the Bad Future featured in Gintama - Kanketsu-hen- Yorozuya Yo Eien Nare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grown men shouldn't wear women's kimonos

"Has your beast quieted, Takasugi?"

The voice had come with a hard gust of wind. The sounds that should have accompanied it: the scuff of sandals on wooden floorboards, the brush of fabric, and the crashing of the giant golden beads around his neck- were completely absent. Since even the staff he held, its loose parts clanging now that the intruder had announced his presence, had been silent when he'd first arrived, and sneaking up on Takasugi was no feat that could be accomplished by an amateur, he could safely assumed that he was dealing with a formidable and experienced opponent.

In an instant, he'd plucked his katana out from under his blue sash and pulled it free of its sheath, drawing it to its full height so he had it pointed at the enemy before him. It was only after he had the intruder at what he hoped was a disadvantage that he recognized its form.

"An Enmi?" Takasugi said, his tone colored with disbelief. Back at the Joui War, he'd seen Gintoki dispatch every Enmi on the battlefield. That he could have missed one was very nearly ludicrous. Gintoki didn't miss.

Still, there was no denying that what stood before him was an Enmi. Thinking back on the voice he'd heard, the possibility should have occurred to him sooner. He'd only heard that deep, soulless, mechanical voice at one other time in his life, and if he'd been thinking about the war as he'd stood on the helm of his ship today, it probably would have, but today he hadn't been thinking about past death, past destruction. He'd been thinking about all the corpses that lined the streets now.

Before the point of his katana, the Enmi didn't even flinch. It simply remarked, "I believe I asked you a question, Takasugi."

"How do you know my name? How do you know me?" As if to punctuate his words, the katana pressed into the Enmi's neck, its bandages bending at the pressue.

Despite this, there was no fear or anger he could sense. No reaction beyond a narrowing of his one crimson eye.

The Enmi responded, "How I know you doesn't matter. I was merely curious if all this," it slowly lifted its hands, encompassing the entire ruined world in his outstretched arms, "had finally satisfied your bloodlust. Do you still desire vengeance when there is no one left to suffer your wrath?"

In a moment of clarity, Takasugi decided that the Enmi did not intend to kill him and, if he were honest with himself, he'd been wondering the same thing. Did he still desire to topple a government that had already fallen? Did he still yearn to kill and burn when most of the world that had taken Shouyou-sensei from him was already dead?

Instead of saying any of that, he lowered his sword, leaving it unsheathed at his side, and replied, "I didn't do this." He covered his bandaged eye with his hand out of habit and allowed the ruined city below his floating ship to fill half his vision. It was what he'd wanted, but he'd had no part in it. More insulting still, the White Plague had taken two of his Kiheitai with it. Only Bansai lived, whether he wanted to or not. A world filled with corpses won't produce anything other than a funeral hymn for those who live in it.

Over all, his vengeance had been hollow. Yes, his beast had stopped howling, he no longer heard its murderous urgings resounding in his ears like static, but it had only stopped howling because it no longer had a reason to, not because it was satisfied. Everything that could have been destroyed had been, and he hadn't lifted a finger to either further that destruction or stop it.

The Enmi followed his gaze, wondering out loud, "Does it matter? Your beast has quieted. I can see it in your eyes. The gleam of your madness has dimmed."

Is that why he felt sorrow for the world that had been? Is that why there was a part of him that mourned the loss of his Kiheitai comrades? Because if that were the case then, "Sanity is a curse."

At his words, the Enmi's red eye narrowed, the markings streaming relentlessly through his pinkish sclera hastened their pace, and the body before Takasugi flickered out of existence, reappearing inches away from him with the staff at his neck before he could so much as lift his katana. Growling, the Enmi replied, "You know nothing of curses."

Anger welled inside Takasugi's heart. This Amanto was an enemy, a stranger, an intruder, and he dared to belittle the pain that he'd been through? Two parts of his soul fought for dominance, the part that wanted to act coolly until a weakness presented itself and the part that wanted to lash out right now. It wasn't until he saw the red eye in front of him widen with surprise that he realized he'd already begun speaking, "Who are you to talk to me like that, huh?" He barely even recognized the drawl. "Just back up for a second and I'll cut your head off."

It was one of those moments where everything can go from sort of bad to head-stuck-in-a-microwave bad. He was in no position to be talking tough, and yet he'd said some provocative words without thinking. If it got him killed, Gintoki would never let him hear the end of it…

Wait, since when did he care what Gintoki thought? Or Katsura? Lately, he'd even found himself wondering how they were. Of course, he knew they were still alive. They were too stubborn to lose to some virus, after all...

A deep, throaty laugh cut off his ill timed introspection and he jerked at the noise, lip curling away from his teeth as he remembered just who was laughing. The only eye he could see was glittering with mirth, "What's so funny?!"

"It's just," Takasugi rocked back on his heels. This voice didn't belong to an Amanto. It was higher, far more natural, and infinitely more familiar, "if Zura and I had realized all we had to do was let you destroy the world and your sanity would come back, we'd have dropped you on a deserted planet and tricked you into thinking it was Earth!"

"Gintoki!" Takasugi spat, readying his blade again as it dawned on him that he'd been tricked. "How dare you dress up like that and interrogate me? I'm gonna skin you alive." Just as he began to lunge forward, the man he knew now was Gin jumped back around ten feet. He faltered. "Gin?" Usually, Gin would be shoving his gullibility in his face or engaging him in battle. Had that changed? If he was finally sane again, this was a really bad time for his former comrades to lose it.

He watched, more concern expressing itself on his face then he'd like, as Gin seemed to collapse inwards, his hands seizing the bandages wrapped around his face as though they were burning it. Gradually, his body relaxed, straightened, and he said, his voice once again mechanical, "Forgive me for that temporary lapse. The original personality of the host I'm currently possessing likes to assert itself every now and then."

"…original…personality…host?"

"Yes. The Shiroyasha tried to stop me from releasing what you humans have called the White Plague, three years ago. He failed, of course. However, it took him two months to fully succumb to the plague and, in that time, he'd done significant damage to my host body. I needed a new one, and who better to be my host than the very man who failed to save this rotten world?"

Those last two words shook him. They were his words. And now he understood why this Amanto had come to visit him, it wasn't his doing at all. It was Gin's. Gin had wanted to know if seeing his goal fulfilled had made him sane again, because even after everything he'd done, even after he'd tried to manipulate the Shinsengumi into self-destructing and sold his former comrades to the Harusame pirates, Gintoki still regarded him as someone he'd sworn to protect.

His grip tightened on his katana, the edges of his vision fading to black as his body blurred into motion. He swung his blade at the Amanto, dead set on removing its head and freeing his former friend, but it blinked out of sight.

For a moment, he stood stock still on his deck, blade still drawn, then he carefully sheathed it and calmly returned to the helm of his ship.

As he watched the sunset, blood red in the empty horizon, the beast howled once more.


	2. That's obviously a cosplay

_There you stand, soaked in blood. The spitting image of a demon. After failing to protect your comrades, you chose the path of carnage. But your monstrous hands… In time, they will even take those you hold dear, and crush them to oblivion. That is the price a demon pays. Devouring both beloved and hated, you will be left to howl in solitude, alone in this world, Shiroyasha._

The Shinsengumi decided to join forces with the Joui after it became increasingly clear to all members that the Bakufu was no longer deserving of their loyalty. People were dying of sickness and starvation in the streets, while the lingering Bakufu officials stored stockpiles of rice and grain in warehouses, remaining otherwise quarantined behind their walls and barricades, and only sending out men to collect taxes from people who couldn't afford to feed their families or even bury their dead. Since the Shinsengumi felt they had a duty to protect the people, not drive them further into the dirt, they cast away their uniforms, their salaries, and their home, all so they could continue to wield their swords for the sake of the citizens and for their own souls.

It was Hijikata who'd said when they officially abandoned the Bakufu, "Living without protecting what we need to protect is the same as death. There's a samurai I know, a real piece of work, who told me that he had an organ in him that was even more important than his heart. His soul. And if we become nothing more than Bakufu stooges, if we watch Edo crumble and do nothing, then our souls will break. If leaving the Bakufu and joining the Joui is what we have to do to protect our souls, to keep standing tall, then I say we do it! We'll follow Kondo-san into Hell with our souls intact and bring as many heartless bastards as we can down with us!"

There were even rumors that the Shogun himself had forsaken the government and absconded with the Oniwabanshu, to which Katsura could only scoff. Honestly, the Shogun running off with ninjas? People would believe anything these days.

Today, they were celebrating the alliance by eating and drinking sake together. The dwelling the two factions had acquisitioned had once belonged to the family of a Bakufu official who had been one of the first to use his wealth to vacate the planet. As that was the case, looters had picked most of its furniture and goods, but since only the space was needed, it was a perfect fit. They'd found two long tables and transformed the living room into a meeting room, a dining room, and, on days like today, a room for celebrations, filled with flowers, streamers, and a sign that read, "Joui to the Shinsengumi". For whatever reason, Katsura, the Joui leader, had departed from the merrymaking early, moving to the porch for some solace.

It was raining. He'd known it was before from the sound of raindrops falling like bullets on the roof, but it was one thing to know and another to see. Droplets hit the ground below him, shot desperately towards the sky, and then melded into the shadowy river that raged on the streets.

Back when he was a still a child, he would love playing in the rain. After practicing for an hour in Shouyou-sensei's dojo, there was nothing better than its cooling touch, but Gintoki and Takasugi never wanted to play. He'd realized how to get around this, of course. If he splashed Gintoki in the face with a puddle, he'd threaten to kill him…

Pausing momentarily in his recollection, Katsura allowed himself a dark chuckle. If there was one thing that never changed about his friend, it was that he occasionally threatened to kill him. He also never stopped having his back. A crazy, violent, undyingly loyal friend like that was worth a few bruises.

Anyway, Gintoki would chase him around in retaliation, getting soaking wet in the process, then Takasugi would laugh at them from sensei's side, and Gin would use that ungodly speed of his to plant a foot on the back of Takasugi's head, launching him into the rain and sometimes sending him skidding, face first, across the mud.

It was those days that Katsura liked to think about when it rained. Unfortunately, memories of tears, blood, and a failure that haunted all of Shouyou-sensei's surviving students tended to paint themselves over that memory and all the others like it.

In his mind's eye, he could still see the bloodstained blanket.

"What are you doing out here?"

Startled, Katsura spun around, nearly drawing his katana. When he saw it was only the Demon Vice Commander, he calmed himself and forced his eyes forward, staring calmly into the rain like he hadn't been panicking mere seconds beforehand, "I'm thinking, obviously."

Hijikata frowned, his hands already pulling out his packet of cigarettes, and replied, "You say 'obviously' but from the look of you, I'd say your head was empty." He leaned against the same railing Katsura was leaning on, stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag. Instead of saying anything else, he slowly exhaled, and observed the smoke curling towards the roof over their heads. The cool sensation of rain on the back of his head and the heat in his stomach from the few cups of sake he'd had meant he didn't mind waiting for an answer.

Katsura gave him a sour look, "I was thinking about the past."

"That's a dangerous thing to think about," Hijikata replied, not looking at the man next to him. In his experience, this sort of thing was easier when you could pretend the person next to you wasn't listening while also knowing they were. "Were you thinking about Yorozuya? That bastard's still alive, you know." Lightning struck the sky, followed by thunder so fierce it shook the building. Some shouts could be heard from inside when the lights flickered. "Tch, we sure chose a shitty day to have a party."

The man next to him, his white haori growing wet from being so close to the storm, shifted away from the rain so he could also lean with his back against the railing. He tilted his head back, letting the rain fall on his forehead and cool his thoughts a little. "I've never believed him dead. I don't know what that man is doing, but there's no doubt in my mind he's still breathing." He spared a sideways smirk for his companion, "We Joui are very hard to kill."

Hijikata blew out another cloud of smoke and grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark, "Oooh, cocky, aren't we?"

"Not cocky." There was a pregnant pause, as though he were choosing his next words with extreme care. Hijikata leaned forward a little so nothing would be lost over the roar of the storm, "I'm Katsura."

Bristling, the Vice Chief choked out, "Why, you- you- you wannabe terrorist! I thought you were going to say something serious!"

"I'm seriously Katsura."

Whipping out his sword, he preceded to try and slice and dice his former enemy into little manageable pieces, but the samurai just laughed him off, dodging easily while never moving from the porch. It was when Katsura leapt on top of the railing, moving like a cat to dodge a strike, that he noticed a glowing red dot, glimmering like crystalized blood on the roof of a building across the road. Even with the sheets of rain impairing his vision, he could see what looked like a dark, man-shaped shadow. It was just then that Hijikata accidentally landed a hit.

Blood spurted from the wound as Katsura scrabbled to regain his balance, "I can't believe you actually hit me!"

"I thought you were going to dodge it!" Hijikata shouted around the cigarette between his lips.

Rubbing his head gingerly, Katsura let loose a growl of frustration and leapt down from his perch, muttering as he pushed past Hijikata and began to run back inside, "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

No one just lets things go like that. Forgiveness was something that came after payback. Years associating with Okita Sougo had engraved this lesson on the Vice Commander's heart. As far as he knew, when someone who would usually snap back at a perceived insult decided to just ignore it, they were raising a death flag. Sure, Sougo would snipe and try to kill him until he had both feet in the grave, but that was Sougo. To call him human would be to stretch the meaning of the word to its breaking point.

"Oi, Kondo-san, I feel like there's a Hijikata-wannabe insulting me in his monologue."

He whirled around the corner, Western-style long coat banging against his knees, and retorted as he ran through the room, once again taking in the wakizashi (short sword) and katana tied to Sougo's red hakama, along with his new hairdo, "I don't want to hear that from you, Kenshin-copycat."

"Please, Kenshin copied this look from me."

"Don't insult Kenshin!"

The end of the living room was in sight; he was nearly to the paper doors. And just as he was beginning to think he could follow Katsura into the rain – the long haired weirdo was surprisingly fast when he wanted to be – a large, white palm grabbed his elbow and nearly pulled his arm from his socket. There was only one monster in the Joui who could stop him at full sprint.

Elizabeth inquired politely, "Hijikata-san, won't you have a celebratory toast with Kondo-san and I?" As he said this, the hand he had on Hijikata's elbow tightened, his other hand quite noticeably wrapped around the handle of his spiked club. And was that… blood encrusted on the tips?

"…S-sure."

 

After crashing through the door, Katsura found himself ankle-deep in the rushing run-off. It soaked through his yukata and chilled his feet, drawing an involuntary gasp from his lips. It was like icy fingers had wrapped around his heart, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins quickly fought off the fingers and warmed him. Ten feet down the road; he saw the same glowing eye that had been on the rooftop seconds ago. There was no mistake; he knew the monk-like robes, the necklace of seals, the tall, golden staff, the hat woven from strips of bamboo, and the face swathed in marked bandages. He knew that glowing eye.

"Enmi." He spat, readying his katana. "Where is Gintoki?"

It all made sense now. Nanomachines. Gintoki had everything figured out before it happened. He must have known what this Amanto had planned and set out to stop him. The fact that the plague had spread regardless of his efforts didn't bode well for his friend, but Katsura knew he wasn't dead. Not even Hell would be so cruel as to take one of the few precious weights he had left away from him and not even the Devil himself was strong enough to take the Shiroyasha's soul.

Instead of answering him, the Enmi flew forward, the speed of its passage splitting the flowing water into a high wake. The ground could even be seen for a few seconds before the two waves collapsed again.

After taking the first blow, Katsura disengaged and tried to move farther from the Joui headquarters. He couldn't fight with the door at his back and he didn't want to worry about bystanders. If he was right, and he was, this was the Enmi who spread the White Plague, a disease it had also inflicted on many of his comrades during the Joui War. Fighting it meant risking infection and it was preferable that only one man take that risk. He couldn't lose anymore comrades.

It was difficult to maintain his balance with the wet dirt sucking at his sandals, but he managed to launch himself at his opponent, blade aching for blood. The staff blocked his blow, but the scrape was enough to generate sparks, illuminating their faces. In the dim light provided by the sparks and another flash of lightning, Katsura looked nightmarish. His narrowed eyes shone with a glimmer of madness. His lips pulled back in a snarl, baring all his teeth.

A dull, half-lidded human eye stared back at him. Something about it struck him as odd – he'd been sure the Enmi were mechanical – but he tucked the thought into the back of his mind. There was no place for doubts in a sword fight. He could think about it after the Enmi had told him where Gin was, and even then, only after the Enmi was dead.

Both of the combatants leapt back several feet. The soaked clothes on their backs weighed them down, but only the long haired samurai was having trouble keeping his hair out of his face. Impatiently, he flicked it away from his eyes and briefly considered simply cutting it off.

Something in his opponent's body shifted, from bottled tension to swirling confusion. Sensing the brief moment of hesitation, Katsura rocketed forward, leapt into the air, and raised his katana for a killing strike. It was risky, since he still needed information, but he was counting on the Enmi making some attempt to defend itself. When it did, however, he wasn't ready for it.

The staff smashed into his ribcage, forcing the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. Precious seconds passed where the only thing he could do was wheeze, forcing air back into him, but the murky water entered his mouth, triggering a bone shaking coughing fit, which hurt the ribs he had undoubtedly broken. A shiver passed through him as he fought to stand again, using the hilt of his sword as a crutch. For some reason he couldn't fathom, the Enmi hadn't attacked him while he was vulnerable. It had merely stared, as silent as ever.

Charging again, Katsura screamed, his face contorted with pain, "I asked you where Gintoki was!"

Again, his sword was met.

"Why did he follow you?!"

They disengaged and reengaged, faster and faster until rain could no longer touch where they fought, and the growing suspicion in the Joui leader's heart, the one that whispered that he knew this fighting style, had faced it many times before, grew increasingly difficult to ignore. The darkened sky lit up around them,

"Why did he go alone?"

-and Katsura's anguished face could be seen in the night as he screamed,

"Why did he leave me behind?!"

In the heat of the battle, he hadn't noticed how slippery his grasp on his weapon was becoming until the katana slid from his grasp. If it had simply fallen in front of him, he would have made a grab for it, but it arced behind him, and the staff was already coming down.

Katsura grinned, defiance making sharp his every feature. This was why he hated rain.

"Katsura!"

White-hot pain flashed down the left side of his face just as he felt two arms pulling him away from the blow. They slammed against the earth together, and for one bright second, he thought that the one who'd saved him was Gintoki. It must have been the blood rushing to his head, though, because when he twisted, all he saw was a drenched man with black hair, and besides, Gintoki always called him-

"Z…zura?"

no.

That voice. It was struggling, flittering, weak, and he'd still know it anywhere.

"Gintoki?" Katsura tried, his hand stemming the blood that now streamed from his now wrecked left eye. "Is this a prank?" His voice sounded choked because he knew… "Did you think I was going to dodge?" He knew this wasn't a prank.

The Vice Commander squirmed out from under Katsura, his eyes held warily on the threat that had, admittedly, sounded like Yorozuya, but that could be a trap. Or a trick. God, he hoped it was a trick.

Slowly, they watched the staff lower, and the human, red eye, the familiar fighting style, could no longer be ignored. That eye belonged to Gintoki.

When he spoke again, he sounded like he was swimming against the tide, like there was something choking him and every word cost him more energy than he could afford to spend, "…your…eye…did…i…do-"

Katsura leapt to his feet, "No!" Looking to Hijikata to agree with him, he continued, "Forget what I said before. I got this from sticking my head in a fan. This wasn't your fault, Gintoki."

Gintoki shook his head, "…li..ar…"

Hijikata didn't have a clue what was going on, but he knew Gintoki- if that was who this really was - had a better idea of what was going on than any of them, and, loathe as he was to admit, the guy obviously needed help and he did want to help him. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd hear the silver haired samurai sound so defeated. That alone almost made him want to call the man out as some imposter. However, when he thought about how Gintoki hadn't recognized Katsura until a few seconds ago and was clearly struggling just to speak now, it made sense to think that he didn't have full control over his mind or body. Something like that could break a strong spirit like him, especially if whatever had its clutches in him forced him to hurt a person he wanted to protect, like a friend.

Or a certain Joui comrade.

Against his better judgment, he took a step forward, "Listen, Yorozuya, that weird monk look doesn't suit you. That dirty, beat up bokuto of yours suits you just fine, though. So-"

He tried to take another step and got cut off when the man leapt backwards, splashing water on all sides as he screamed, "Don't come near me!" Gintoki tilted his head towards the sky, and his voice, already strained, broke into an anguished scream that tore through the bandages, giving his mouth the appearance of a gaping maw. The scream rose in volume until it was a howl that rent the air in two. The tortured cry of a man, a demon, and the machine that tried to destroy them all.

The two samurai simultaneously made to pursue him, subdue him if they had to, but the man in the Amanto's clothes leapt, still shrieking, into the raging sky and faded from sight. A ball, hard and metallic, rolled towards them through the rain, blinded them for an instant, and robbed them of the knowledge they'd just gained.

Looking around dazedly, Hijikata fixed his eyes on Katsura's wound. "You're wounded!" A quick scan of the perimeter told him that whatever had attacked them and likely erased their memories had left, though they couldn't be sure it wasn't coming back. "Come inside, I'll bandage your eye for you."

Blood continued to weep through Katsura's fingers as he thought hard about something important he felt he'd forgotten, something his soul begged him to remember but ,in the end, he couldn't. He'd lost his eye for a reason he couldn't remember and that was the same as losing it for nothing.

He felt warmth run down his arm and decided he was tired of waiting for his comrade to return. Gintoki always stopped him when he started making trouble, right? Then, all he had to do was make trouble. Trying to burn what was left of the corrupt Bakufu to ashes should be enough.

A shiver passed through the Demon Vice Commander as he watched the Joui leader bare his teeth at the sky and cackle. Lightning streaked through the sky, reflecting off the crimson that coated his body and the light in his eye, giving him a semblance very close to a demon.

"Stop cackling so I can bandage your wound or I'll knock you out and dress it while you're unconscious."

"Okay, I'm coming." After a short pause, Katsura added, "Hey, do you know where I can find a Colonel Sanders?"


	3. When the fuzziness of your hairstyle makes up for the emptiness of your head...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The boy who stated that he just doesn't want to see anyone cry...could only see crying humans forever." - Fate/Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works

_After a full day of carnage and battle, it was surprisingly easy to see the stars, clean and clear, gleaming merrily in the inky darkness that claimed the sun and its warmth hours ago. There was a chill in the air and it dried their sweat, caressed their wounds, and let the boiling blood in their veins finally cool. Above the ground, above the freshly dug graves, Sakamoto Tatsuma gazed up into the night._

_"Did you mean what you said last night?" Unlike most, Sakamoto wasn't one for losing his cool, so he only shifted slightly when the man he'd believed to be resting beside him suddenly spoke up. The rustle of fabric against the metal guarding his stomach was the only sound to betray the movement. "You said you wanted to go to space. Did you mean it?"_

_A crimson eye glittered up at him, as clear as the stars he'd just been watching, and Sakamoto couldn't help but laugh at the gravity in it, "Ah ha ha, of course! I always mean what I say."_

_Seemingly placated, Gintoki tucked his chin closer to the base of his neck and propped his head over his palms. Just when it seemed he wouldn't speak again, he replied, "Sometimes we mean things when we say them. Reality has nasty a way of breaking our promises when we aren't looking. Promises we fully intended to keep."_

_Following his gaze wasn't necessary. Sakamoto knew what he was going to see, but he did it anyway, and there, dark, silent, shadowed, were the graves. He hadn't known the men who died today very well, but they had shared meals together, fought together. It was enough._

_"To me, reality is like gravity. Before the Amanto came, everyone thought the closest we'd ever get to the stars was the top of a mountain. Now-," He reached, hand grasping for the black ocean above them, "now, we can touch them." He turned and grinned, "Reality can be beaten."_

_Gintoki sighed,"It's because you talk like that some of the guys hate you. It makes you sound like you admire the Amanto."_

_"And what's wrong with that? I admire what they've done. I just hate the way they kill my friends." The same tone Sakamoto used to ask for fried egg in the morning also colored his voice now, and he punctuated the sentence by smiling in a way that could almost be mistaken for carefree. Seriously, how was such a strange guy capable of leading a charge? Of leadership? Of functioning?_

_Gintoki cast the thoughts aside for the moment, especially the last one. For whatever reason, the merchant's son has been one the best things to ever happen to the Joui. He got their spirits up. Wondering how he switched from smiling serenely to issuing orders amongst screams and fire was just a waste of thought better spent on how he would survive tomorrow and how he could make sure he wasn't the only one sitting on this roof tomorrow night. He'd hesitated too long in his reply to Sakamoto, so he drawled, "It's creepy the way you say things like that with a smile on your face, you know. Freaks some of the men out."_

_Again, Sakamoto laughed and Gintoki fought a sudden urge to clap his hands over his ears. Or maybe give the gravediggers one more job for the night._

_The moonlight shone off of his headpiece nicely when Sakamoto expounded, "I like to laugh. I like to smile. It doesn't matter to me how it looks or what people think. I just do what I like."_

_With a thoughtful 'Mmhmm', Gin was ready to let the subject drop. His eyes were getting droopy and he had to be rested if he wanted to make absolutely no mistakes tomorrow. He briefly entertained the thought of equating resting for a battle with beauty sleep, but the comparison left a bad taste in his mouth._

_"What about you?" Oh God, he's still talking? Sure, Gin-san started it, but the conversation was obviously over, already. Get the hint, idiot!_

_"What about what, Bakamoto?"_

_"When we talk like this, you're relaxed. And, sometimes, you're even funny-"_

_"Shut up. I'm always funny."_

_"-but when you're on the battle field, the you leading the charge and issuing orders is completely different."_

_Those words were almost exactly what he'd thought. Gintoki cracked his eyes open and sat up, deciding he could stay awake a little longer. "Me, Takasugi, and Katsura… We're kind of the leaders, you know? We don't get to be human on the field the way we can be when we're together. I can talk like this with you because you're also kind of a leader. I don't need to raise your morale. I'm not even sure raising your morale any higher is possible. But for the others, they don't need Sakata Gintoki. They need a demon they can follow into battle. Into Hell." He clenched his fist, watching apathetically as his knuckles whitened. "I can be that demon."_

_Sakamoto observed him, the ever present smile of his face oddly absent as he stressed, "No, you can't, Gintoki."_

_A hopeless shrug. A sad smile. "Doesn't matter. I have to be."_

_Once again, crickets filled the silence. A cicada chirped somewhere in the grass, a frog croaked somewhere beneath their feet, and soft snores stuttered, sailing from sleeping mouths all the way to the wakeful ears of the two samurai on the rooftop. Snores, insects, stars, air- all things that spoke only of life. They were surrounded by it on all sides, and yet, there had been more voices present last night. More sounds. Mouths that snored only yesterday chewed on dirt and rocks today. It was difficult to appreciate life when you slept among dead friends._

_"I think", started Sakamoto. "I think fighting beside someone I've laughed with is enough for me. I don't want to follow anyone's back. I want to see my comrades smiling and I'll never see that if I'm following or leading."_

_Gintoki snorted, "You do lead, though. I just mentioned that."_

_"Yeah. But when I go into space, I'll always keep my comrades at my side. No one will run ahead, no one will bare their burdens alone, and no one will be left behind."_

_It was a good dream, Gintoki thought. It suited Sakamoto. That guy- Earth just wasn't large enough for him. A space head like him belonged in space._

_He reached over and patted his head affectionately. If anyone could find a way, he could._

_Laughing, Sakamoto ducked his head, grinning impishly up at him with only one of his bright eyes cracked open, "You know, I think even if the whole world woke one day and decided you really were a demon, even if you woke up one day and decided you really were a demon, I would never believe it. And the next time we meet, I'll proof it. I'll give you a nickname so silly, no one will be able to muster the slightest bit of fear for you."_

_Gintoki groaned. "Fine, but wait 'til the war is over. I can't have Amanto laughing at me while I'm trying to cut them down."_

_"Actually, that might-"_

_"No."_


	4. The calm before the storm

It wasn't too long ago when the planet Pattooine could barely be considered inhabited. Shoddy constructions of dry wood planks and bent nails littered the cracked dirt roads for miles. All together, those slapped together booths and dilapidated buildings were the closest thing the people had to a market place. Hardy clothes were put on display for the traveler unprepared for the blazing heat of the Pattooine sun and dried meats and fruits could be traded for or purchased at high but unavoidable prices. Recently, humans and displaced Amanto had begun flocking to the arid planet like rats from a sinking ship. While Pattooine at first relished the increase in attention and economy, they quickly realized that the population was growing too quickly and many of the refugees brought nothing to the planet but the clothes on their backs, having spent all their money on escaping as quickly as possible to the only habitable planet they could afford.

And so, garbage and crime quickly became the most prevalent features of Pattooine. The small police was wiped out within the first few weeks of the population boom and no one was willing to risk their own lives in an attempt to rebuild it. Boats and oil crowded the sea, making catching anything almost impossible for the local fishermen. Regardless of the near hopelessness of the task, many men, young and old, could still be seen fishing off of the docks, trying to lure in any sea creature, regardless of species, that might be lurking under the hull of a merchant ship or a travel vessel.

Leathery and tanned from years of working under the close Pattooine sun, an old man, already slick with sweat, suddenly noticed a large fish taking interest in his line. Nearly giddy with excitement, he clamped down on a shout, but didn't quite manage to smother the goofy grin that lit up his face as the tasty Three-Eyed Worm fish nudged his line, gave it a tentative nip, and then…

"Bleeeaarghhh!"

Vomit the color of spoiled milk rained down on his meal ticket. His face stayed frozen in a grim rictus of joy, eyes unseeing and skin bloodless as the man hunched over beside him continued to expel a seemingly endless amount of bodily fluids into the sea. Once the color began to return to the old man, it returned with a vengeance. Skin mottled with purplish bruising and puce splotches, he leapt to his feet, "What's wrong with you?! I was finally going to catch a fish, after all this time." Despairingly, he cradled his head in his hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He heard an obnoxiously cheerful voice say and lifted his head so he could get a better look at the man he was speaking to. If the seasick fellow had just come off the large spaceship he'd tried to fish under, then it could be assumed that the man was a merchant, and since the white shirt he wore and the scarlet jacket draped around his thin frame seemed to be in good condition, it could be also assumed that he was a good one. Round, tinted sunglasses held fast to his face, giving him an eccentric appearance that might have even been cool if he weren't currently sheepishly wiping bile from his chin. The only thing that truly seemed out of place was the spongy hair encasing his head. How did one even end up with hair like that? "I get seasick easily. Ahahaha!"

Bristling, the old man retorted, "This is no laughing matter. That fish was my livelihood. How am I going to eat now?"

The merchant straightened, one hand rubbing his neck, and smiled, "That's okay. I'll compensate you." He reached under the flaps of one of his jackets and pulled out a wallet bursting to the brim with yen.

"Idiot!" While using his body to shield the strangely moronic merchant from view, the old man forced him to put his wallet away. "Are you trying to get us both killed? If anyone sees you flailing that much money around, they'll kill you."

"And he'd deserve to die," a cold, feminine voice said from behind them. They spun around to see a young woman with flawless pale skin and long hair the color of wet straw. Like the merchant, her clothes also seemed unnecessarily heavy for the warm weather, but at least she had the sense to wear a wide-brimmed hat.

Recognition lit up the merchant's face, "Mutsu! So-" His head rocked back, blood spurting from his scalp as the old man registered with horror that the cool young woman was now holding a smoking pistol.

She lowered her weapon. "Don't worry about him. He bounces back." At her words, the merchant straightened again, his smile still at full blast and with only a trickle of blood dripping from his scalp and down his nose.

Even if the bullet had only grazed him, wasn't that relaxed attitude unnatural? What sort of monsters were these people?

Once Mutsu's attention was once more fully on the merchant, and not on the quivering, ghost-white fisherman, she added, "What did I tell you about wandering off, Captain?"

"Ahahaha, but Mu-" Another bullet whizzed through the air, slicing through a few of the merchant's curly hairs as a warning.

Eyes clear as glass and hard as stone, Mutsu said, "I told you not to. And now that man has lost his catch." She drew 500 yen from under her violet cape and tossed it at the fisherman. He was so on edge and traumatized that he fumbled the catch and had to grope frantically for the falling notes as though his life depended on it. "That should make up for what my stupid captain cost you."

Eyes wide with wonder, he allowed himself a long look at what he grasped between his fingers. The money was more than enough to compensate for the fish. It was probably even enough to pay for a meal. His gaze hardened slightly as he wondered if it would be enough to feed any of the other homeless and hungry mouths that lurked around the market place, but decided that he should simply thank the woman and her pet merchant before he pushed his luck.

"Thank yo-"

Only to be cut off by the sight of that very merchant waggling his butt in the air and vomiting in his bait bucket. Veins bulging, the old man shook his fist, shrieking, "Whatever! I don't care, anymore. Just keep this idiot away from me! Keep him out of my sight and as far away as humanly possible!" The merchant's owner was already dragging him away by his hair at this point, but the old man still made sure to shout after their retreating forms, "If I ever see him again, I'll use _him_ as bait!"

 

"I wonder what must have happened to upset that old man so much," Sakamoto pondered as he and Mutsu trudged through the sea of sweat and bodies that made up the planet's marketplace. Due to the heat, Sakamoto, at least, had shed his outer layers, wrapping his jacket and scarf around his arm while his Yato companion made due with a hat that kept her mostly in the shade.

She replied, without skipping a beat or even turning in his direction, "I believe you happened, Captain."

The merchant placed a hand on the back of his afro and laughed, conceding the point. Once it became clear Mutsu wasn't in the mood to carry a conversation, he allowed himself to take proper scope of his surroundings, though he did his best to continue to appear as harmless as ever, especially since his gun holster was fully exposed, thus making it even more important that he not appear a threat.

He'd asked the Kaientai to dock on Pattooine because it was the closest planet with a bar, but he hadn't realized just how poor the conditions were. Behind the booths, he could see houses constructed from what looked like a mix of wood, mud, and cardboard. A rainstorm would knock them down in a minute, but what disturbed him most were the formless bodies he could see scuttling in corners and dark spaces. Every now and then, the sun would flash on a head of white hair. Without knowing what it meant, he could only assume that even the elderly were being forced to live in such conditions.

"Do you really have to do this every year, Captain? Certainly, you could just toast to your old comrades on the ship."

"No, no" he insisted, still smiling as his eyes searched for a bar, though the smile no longer quite reached his eyes, a fact well hidden by his sunglasses, and continued, "I'm proud to toast to my fallen comrades."

"That may be true, but even after fifteen years, I don't think the Amanto will appreciate you toasting your Joui comrades on the anniversary of their victory. Those who win a war can toast to their comrades whenever and wherever they wish, but those who lose must grieve in silence." Her eyes lighted on a shady looking place with a tilted sign and a trio of already wasted men loitering at its entrance.

Sakamoto saw the same place, nodded approvingly, and firmly said, "They weren't just my comrades, Mutsu. They were my friends. A man should never be afraid to toast to the memory of his friends." With that, he strode ahead, tripped on a rock, quickly scrambled to his feet, and entered the bar. Sighing, Mutsu followed. If she knew her Captain, he'd be needing back-up soon.

The three men sneered drunkenly at her as she passed and she ignored them, the way one would flies flittering around a horse's head.

The building the Bad News Bar was located in could only be called a building in the sense that it had four walls and a roof. The flooring consisted only of dirt, dust, and sand, and the windows looked as though someone had used them to try and shovel some of the sewage off the streets. A yellow film grew over much of them, preventing anyone from seeing in or out of the bar, and for the bar's patrons that was probably preferable. Few people come for a drink so they can think about the problems that lie in wait just outside of it.

Mutsu found her captain already seated in the corner at a low round table with two cups and a small pitcher of sake. There were three rotund, amphibious Amanto seated at the counter, shouting rowdily. Their faces already flushed from drink and sun, making them the most likely candidates for who would be trying to bash her captain's head in in the near future. As she joined Sakamoto for his toast, she unbuckled her holster, making sure her gun was available for quick and easy use.

It wasn't until the Amanto's unintelligible voices drifted over to their table like poison gas that she noticed just how hard her captain's usually slack features had become. Sweat glistened on his chest and forehead; hand paused mid-pour over her glass, suspended like the marble hand of a statue. His entire focus was on the Amanto at the counter, so she listened closely, choosing their voices out of the cacophony of the crowd, and finally heard what he heard.

"Man, all these humans crowding the streets like roaches sure are a nuisance." Beer spilled as the Amanto sloppily tried to pour it down its frog-like gullet. "You know, I really thought that plague might end up being good pest control, but all it's done is spread the monkeys to other planets."

Fire is the usual response for those of Yato blood. They burn when they love, when they hate. They burn when they fight. Mutsu, however, was not a usual Yato. She grew cold when others would burn, and as those words slapped her in the face, as images of two dorky children and two equally foolish samurai came to focus in her mind, she felt the ice in her heart grow.

The squalor in the streets and the overabundance of humans should have been obvious hints that something was wrong. They just hadn't wanted to notice. And the dead look she'd glimpsed in some of the eyes she'd passed, the look she'd once seen in slaves who had seen the darkest humanity had to offer and crumbled from the sheer weight of that knowledge. Some part of them must have known. The other shoe had dropped ages ago, they'd just been too far away to hear the sound until the event had long passed.

Another well dressed and obviously well fed Amanto spoke, responding to the first, "Maybe someone will do us a favor and spread that plague here. Then we'll get all the food and jobs back those monkeys have taken."

Once the tabletop began to splinter under the pressure of her grip, she cast a wary glance at her captain and immediately relaxed. Even with his sunglasses hiding them from sight, she could tell. The light in his eyes had gone dark.

 

Sakamoto left the table with the ghost of his previously jovial expression still lingering around his lips and entirely absent from his hidden eyes. Various customers did attempt to get him to stop and apologize when he bumped into them, but they cut themselves off, because in the split second Sakamoto was forced to stop for them, to endure another word of those sadistic taunts about his home, they sensed a monster swimming beneath the man's skin, a dark shadow that was barely restraining itself from eating them alive. Letting him pass wasn't courtesy. It couldn't even be attributed to fear. What they felt went deeper than that. They let him pass because of an innate desire to live to see the next minute.

One of the frogmen at the counter, the first speaker, noticed the merchant, and jeered, "Well, what do we have here? It's a monkey."

A smile now firmly plastered on his face, Sakamoto scratched the back of his head and laughed. "Yep, that's me." He leaned over on the counter, ignoring the smell of overripe fish and alcohol, and continued, "So, I overheard some interesting conversation and couldn't help but wonder which planet you three were talking about? I'm afraid I'm not up to date on current events. Of course, that's to be expected." The ever-present grin took on a sardonic edge. "I'm just a monkey, after all."

Laughter croaked from the throats of the three frogmen, their throats swelling in unison. "Would you get a load of this guy?"

One of them, the one neither Sakamoto nor Mutsu had heard speak yet, wiped a tear from his eye and said, "Sorry to break it to ya, pal." And Sakamoto almost warmed to him, before the Amanto frowned, adding, "Well, not really. You see, a large part of Earth's population was wiped out thanks to a plague, and that makes things easier for traders like us. Less competition, you know?" For an instant, he almost seemed apologetic. "It's nothing personal."

"To hell it isn't!" The frogman sitting in the middle made to take another swig of his beer, only to share his drink with the floor, his lap, and the front of his shirt. "I hate the smarmy little bastards. Rotten-"

Cold, black metal pressed against his temple. He looked up to see the merchant hadn't moved an inch. He was still smiling placidly like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Say another word, Frog" Mutsu warned. "And you'll never speak again."

He gulped audibly and visibly, swallowing the nervous bulge of saliva while his bulbous eyes swiveled side to side, finally settling on the owner of the pistol currently branching off from his head.

She looked human, and for an instant, he thought, ' I could take her. My tongue can knock the gun out of her hands before she pulls the trigger.' Just as the tip of his tongue came slithering out of his wide mouth, though, he saw how the confrontation would play out in the cruel glint of her eyes.

He promptly closed his mouth with a pop and kept it closed.

His companion, not understanding the danger, grabbed Sakamoto by the scarf, "Hey! What's the big idea?! He's just drunk. He wouldn't say that stuff if-" Yelping in pain, he drew his hand back as if burned from the merchant's death grip, quieting when the sunglasses cleared and he saw just how grim the man appeared, a stark contrast from the smiling merchant he'd approached them as.

Sakamoto shook his head slowly, like it was all he could do to stand with the weight of it, "He meant what he said. He wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it. Now," Something indefinable flashed across his countenance, "my day has just taken a very sudden and very definite turn for the worst, so I suggest you and your friends clear out of here before I ask Mutsu if she'd be willing to cook up some delicious frog stew tonight for me and the rest of the crew." He looked up and bared his teeth in an alarming distortion of his usual grin, "What do you say?"

Clenching his fists impotently and working his mouth seemed to be the most the Amanto was capable of for a few seconds, but when their third companion leapt to his feet, he grabbed his arm, motioning for him to keep silent. "We'll go." It wasn't until the two had reached the front door that Sakamoto nodded and Mutsu released their final companion. He snarled and shook his fist at them on his way out.

With his back sagging against the counter, Sakamoto massaged his forehead and asked the bartender, a burly fellow with fists the size of watermelons, if he could have a another glass of sake, since the first lay toppled and abandoned on their table.

"Well, I would, but seeing as you just kicked three paying customers out of _my_ bar" Three rows of fangs made themselves known, much to the merchant's displeasure. "I don't suppose you have 60,000 yen on you to give me?"

Mutsu grabbed Sakamoto by the afro-

"Time to go."

-and launched him through the air like a football, sending him spiraling through the bar's front window in a spectacular show of shattered glass.

Pain stung him where the shards had embedded themselves in his skin. Usually, the jacket he wore would have blocked most of the damage. It seemed taking it off, even if he'd done it because he was slowly dying of heat stroke, had been a miscalculation. To be fair, his disagreement with the Amanto hadn't actually ended with violence. It was Mutsu who'd decided throwing him head first out a window would be a more expedient exit than simply walking out the front door.

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the patrons of the bar were still upset- well, _that_ was just rude - but they weren't moving beyond the confines of the bar, so he wasn't moving until he'd finished plucking the glass from his hair, scalp, and arms.

Blood spurted from the back of his head when he pulled the final shard free from his skull. Luckily, his body was used to head wounds, and the gash clotted easily in a few seconds.

His shirt, on the other hand, was not used to being ripped and torn and would not heal itself. Shifting in the dirt to get into a more comfortable position, the people passing by giving him odd looks as he continued to bleed without seeming overly concerned about his injuries or the entire group of intoxicated men and Amanto screaming for his death no more than five feet behind him, he thrust a hand under his white shirt and despondently wiggled it through the jagged tear across his chest.

Warm air hissed through clenched teeth. "Granny isn't going to be too happy with me when she sees this."

Glass clinked, falling from his clothes in a shower when he stood and brushed himself off, then he gave his shirt a slight tug, peeling the slick sections away from his warm skin.

It was part of a merchant's job to be well informed. Panicking now that he'd heard some unsavory tale from some unsavory men on a planet that happened to back up said tale wasn't enough to convince him that Katsura and Gintoki had been endangered. Honestly, those two were probably fine. Knowing them, the plague had caught one glimpse of their scary mugs and kept clear of Kabukicho.

"Ahahaha! That's right!" He glanced impatiently at the front door. "I'm overthinking this." Another impatient glance. "Those guys are probably fine." Tapping his foot now and crossing his arms, he waited, nearly buzzing, for Mutsu so he could get moving. He had a terrible inkling she'd sat down and ordered a beer herself after throwing him out the window.

Instinct is something everyone is born with. Battle can hone it into a razor edge, a taut wire, gathering dust in the back of an abandoned room until someone comes along and triggers it. It was because of this instinct that Sakamoto didn't need to see the form moving in the darkened space behind the rotted stack of wooden planks and broken pottery in the narrow gap between the buildings across the street. He sensed it.

Killing intent.

Since a large part of surviving an ambush comes from not letting your opponent know he has lost the element of surprise, he decided to clamp down on his own rising killing intent while simultaneously pretending to fidget with his gun, staring at the weapon like it was a toy he didn't quite know how to work. The action wasn't overly suspicious, especially if the hidden assailant had been watching him long enough to grasp a basic idea of his usual character, and he had his gun ready for use.

The feminine form of his second in commander exiting the bar distracted him momentarily from the heat under his skin and the chill on his neck. With her arms firmly crossed against her chest, she gave him an appraising look, "You always end up like this, Captain."

His lips pulled back in a parody of his usual smile, "That's why I need you around to take care of me, Mutsu." Inwardly, he noted that the whole reason he'd been injured in the first place was because she'd thrown him out a window. It wasn't that he really minded or anything. Bringing it up just seemed unwise.

The chill on his neck strengthened when she pulled the bandages out from under her violet cape and started wrapping his wounds. Feigning exhaustion, he lowered his head close to her ear, whispering, "We're being watched." At the same time the woman treating his wounds stiffened, the sound of wood scraping on stone could be heard. Whatever lurked in the shadows was moving.

"What should we do, Captain?"

In the end, Sakamoto never got the chance to answer.

Far quieter than any living being should be, a large Amanto with a golden staff emerged from the shadows. It was the sort of thing he'd only seen in one place and had ardently wished never to see again. "How did you know I was there?"

Smiling, Sakamoto worked his crimson jacket onto his uninjured arm and cocked his gun. "I sensed your killing intent." Mutsu quickly tied off the bandage she'd wrapped on his other arm and aimed her own gun at the suspicious presence, glancing surreptitiously back at her slightly paler than usual captain as she did so.

"Killing intent?" To their surprise, the Enmi seemed shocked. "But I didn't come here to kill you. There shouldn't be any… Oh." One of his hands lifted, setting the former Joui and Yato on edge. It didn't move to attack them, though. Instead, it came to rest at the scarlet lapel hanging from the Enmi's beaded necklace. The seals around his neck crinkled at the touch. "This killing intent isn't aimed at you."

Well, wasn't that cryptic?

Sakamoto clicked his tongue, deliberately placing his finger on the trigger. "Why are you here?" Memories of comrades afflicted with a disease that cursed them with white hair, paralysis, and blindness, before finally taking their lives flashed through his mind. The last memory was a head of white hair he'd just seen, peering up at him from darkness.

What if that hadn't been the head of an elderly person? What if that had been the head of an infected person?

Keeping his voice low, Sakamoto aimed the pistol at the pink iris he could see the nanomachines running through, inquiring, "Did you spread the plague on Earth?"

The speed of the nano machines picked up at his words. Mutsu nudged him, suggesting a retreat since people were beginning to gather and fighting on a narrow road would put them at a disadvantage.

Right when he was beginning to think she may be right, the Enmi growled, "Why should it matter to you?"

"What?" Out of all the things he'd expected to hear, that hadn't been one. "Of course it matters!" Damn, he was starting to lose his cool. Mutsu gave him a warning glance, even though he could already feel the rein on his emotions slipping. "Earth is my home."

"Wrong." Its staff clanged, emphasizing the accusing tone it threw at him. "You abandoned that planet. You left your comrades to die." A pause. Just long enough for one, exhausted breath. "There's no one waiting for you anymore."

In the second it took the sun to flash across Sakamoto's sunglasses, he'd fired six shots at the Enmi's head, all of which the Enmi dodged only by moving several increments to the right and left, and followed the shots by leaping into the air, slamming a roundhouse kick against the Enmi's side.

The alien rolled with the kick's momentum, avoiding most of the damage, but the move sent it skidding back several feet, kicking up a billowing cloud of dust and forcing the alien into a sliding crouch.

"I didn't come here to hurt you."

Sakamoto, running for another attack as he refilled his cartridge, flatly replied, "Then stand still."

Grumbling, the Enmi muttered under its breath, evading another roundhouse kick and ducking when two bullets whizzed by as it did so. "Man... this really is the worst."

Even if the enraged merchant had heard his muttered comments, there's no guarantee he would have stopped his assault. After all, Amanto were notorious for considering the human race beneath him. Even Mutsu, who had been trying to talk him down from a rage like she'd never seen him in, couldn't reach him. As it happened, it wasn't anything the Amanto or his second-in-command said that stopped the ferocious onslaught, but the sound of a woman screaming.

Upon hearing that, the two opponents froze.

The Amanto looked ahead, already expecting to see Sakamoto's retreating form, and was instead shocked to discover the merchant hadn't moved a step yet. He was hesitating. Obviously torn between his desire for answers and his desire to run to whoever needed him.

"Well?" the Amanto sneered. "Aren't you a _samurai_?"

The taunt wasn't enough. Not even Mutsu snorting in disgust and running ahead was enough, so the Amanto added, "I'll answer your questions when you return to your ship."

The thought of this devil aboard his ship made Sakamoto grind his teeth, but the woman's panicked scream rent the air again and he disengaged from the fight, dashing through the streets without stopping or apologizing, because he didn't know what had begun to come over him but someone needed his help.

The Enmi watched him leave for a few seconds and rubbed its head.

"You had me scared for a second, but it looks like you're still the same empty headed moron, after all."


	5. Perms are hereditary. Just don't shower an hour after being born.

"Keep your hat low, Kanshichirou," Ofusa urged for the tenth time, dragging her son by the hand as they hurried down the market streets. They were freshly off the refugee ship, barely an hour having gone by since they'd pushed their way through the gate. Despite this, dirt and dried sweat had already begun to encrust itself on their skin. Her kimono, a plain tan one - she'd traded her formal floral patterned kimono when she realized how eye-catching it would be on an impoverished planet - felt stiff and it scraped against her skin as they continued to move.

Kanshichirou had been silent longer than she liked, but he kept pace with her. At six years old, he was a child who rarely laughed. His grandfather had been able to coax a shy smile or a soundless snicker from the boy when he was alive. More often than not, Kahei was busy running the Hashidaya business, making those rare visits all the more special to Kanshichirou.

Then the sickness spread.

None of the Hashida family actually contracted the White Plague. They were lucky, blessed, even, in that sense. In the end, the danger that couldn't be avoided wasn't a disease, but flesh and blood human beings.

A mob cornered Kahei in an alley. Because of his white hair, they accused him of carrying the disease, of endangering them all, even though his hair was white because age had stripped it of its color.

After he died, Ofusa decided Earth was no longer safe for her child. His hair was so light a silver as to be almost white. It wouldn't be a stretch to believe a mob, frenzied and frightened, could also mistake her child for a carrier and take his life, just as one had his grandfather's. So, she'd scrounged up what money she could from the Hashidaya business, then she traded her kimono for something tan and plain. Kanshichirou's yukata was swapped from light green to midnight black, the color of deepest depths of the ocean.

Running for so long, with a hat covering his wavy hair, Kanshichirou hadn't had a chance to adjust to his new yukata. The dark sash around his waist loosened, he could feel the sudden give around his waist, letting his yukata droop and exposing the skin on his chest to the elements. They were just passing a bar when he tripped over the bottom hem of his yukata.

Not realizing he'd fallen, his mother continued to drag him across the hard ground for a few steps before she realized he was no longer running, rather he was grimacing with embarrassment and discomfort. Some of his newly exposed skin felt raw after the fall. It stung.

Ofusa kneeled, picked him up, and brushed off the dust from his shoulders. It reminded him of Grandpa. The way he was before he'd died.

That thought, however quickly he'd found it and shut it away, made his eyes sting almost as much as his skin did. When Ofusa looked up after she'd finished refastening his kimono, she found him furiously rubbing his eyes.

"Kanshichirou?" She asked with concern. "Are you all right? Does it hurt that badly?"

The boy threw his hand away from his face, revealing flushed cheeks and the irritated pink around his sullen eyes, and said firmly "I'm fine."

His mother sighed. Where on Earth could her child have gotten this stubborn streak from?

"That's one shapely body you have there, Missy."

She tore her eyes away from her child and searched for the source of the voice, her body quivering like a frightened rabbit's. Standing outside of the bar they'd passed were three men who looked and smelled as though they had bathed in alcohol. She grabbed Kanshichirou by his straw hat as they approached and used it to tug him behind her, though he'd resisted for a second. As impassive as he always seemed, Kanshichirou was extremely protective of his mother. To him, she was the only source of love and warmth he had left in the world and he couldn't even fathom walking a single step forward without seeing her smiling face.

Still, he understood he was not a match for three grown men, even if they swayed when they walked. He moved behind her, protected by her back, and gritted his teeth. Bronze eyes blazed under the shade of his hat when the drunks came within three feet of Ofusa, but she forced the large hat over his head once she noticed one of the men cast her son a vaguely amused glance.

"Well, it seems she has a kid. And a feisty brat, at that." The apparent leader had around three days stubble on his chin, threadbare clothes, and the slightly deflated look of a recently unemployed laborer. The other two looked much the same, which is to say they were large and fit, just not as large and fit as they had once been.

Nearby salespeople averted their eyes from the scene. Those who accidentally caught Ofusa's gaze would glance guiltily at their feet, but make no move to help her.

The leader and his friends also noticed the guilty, downcast rejections and didn't know whether to smile or rage at the sight. If they still had jobs, families, would that have been them? And now, look, they were the villains.

But why shouldn't they be? Life had taken everything away from them, leaving them with nothing left to lose, so why shouldn't they take from others? Why shouldn't they rip joy and tear pleasure from anyone and anywhere they chose?

It wasn't like they could fall any further.

Moving with the predatory grace of a panther, they surrounded Ofusa, blocking any avenue of escape while the leader began to stroke her cheek, grinning widely at the disgust and defiance he saw beneath the fear.

He was so distracted by her beautiful face that he didn't pay any attention to her hands.

"Boss, what do we do about the kid?" The smallest of the men asked.

Hesitating for a moment, his fingers still brushing Ofusa's jawbone, he spared the kid another glance. He was- what- six or so? It was possible he didn't even know what was going on, though the balled up fists at his sides suggested otherwise. Curiously, the straw hat he wore covered every inch of his hair.

Well, almost every inch.

The drunken man narrowed his eyes and the bleary image of a stray sliver came into focus.

In one quick motion, he snatched the hat from the boy's head.

"White," the man breathed.

Three lines of burning fire lit up his jaw and he reared back, roaring like an injured animal. Seizing this chance, Ofusa grabbed Kanshichirou's hand and darted toward a busy intersection she could see at the end of a narrow alley at the end of the road. Carrying Kanshichirou would make it impossible to fit, so he was again forced to rally his burning legs and run. He could hear shouts behind him, and the fear that felt like squirming insects in his stomach grew, only for them to shrivel and die when he saw the desperate panic on Ofusa's face and felt her hand tighten around his.

Dammit!

Why was he small?

Why couldn't he protect her?

They made it into the alley, barely escaping the burly arms and acrid breath of one of the men. He was too thick to enter the gap, so he could only pound the wall in frustration.

Ofusa didn't look back. She focused her entire being on reaching the light at the end of the alley. Garbage and debris blocked the path somewhat after she reached the halfway point. Her kimono caught on a rusty nail, tearing all the way to her thigh. Another tear exposed almost the entirety of her back but her mind was so focused on planning her next step that she didn't feel the first or really register the stinging pain that resulted from the bite of the second.

With a gasp of relief, she stepped out into the sun and turned to cast a reassuring smile on Kanshichirou. A large shadow eclipsed his terrified expression. That was the only warning she received seconds before a viselike grip arrested her body and her son was ripped from her arms.

 

  
"Demon!"

"Monster!"

"Leave him alone!" Ofusa howled, the men paid her no mind as they continued to beat her son.

As Kanshichirou had never known true pain before, he found the experience of being beaten almost fascinating, and he tried to focus on that fascination. It helped him stay in control. Before now, he'd known nothing but love and care, so though the searing fireworks he felt under his skin when the kicks connected shocked him, he was able to keep enough of his head to bite down on any scream or whimper he was tempted to give voice to.

The men attacked the soft parts of his body, trying to kill him. Still, he wasn't going to scream. He wasn't going to cry. That would mean losing. He looked up at the men attacking him with half-lidded eyes, and grinned.

One of the men backed off. "Oi, Boss," he said, "don't you get the feeling this kid is mocking us?"

The boss kicked the kid in the stomach, felt the soft give, and watched with satisfaction as the arrogant expression fell from the boy's face, replaced by a desperate need to retake the air that had been driven from his lungs.

The youngest member of the group balked at this. He looked around him and asked, "Can we really do this? This is a kid here, guys!"

"The kid's infected. If we don't kill him, this planet will die, too! Is that what you want, Kenkichi?"

The hope Ofusa had held on to for a moment died when Kenkichi lowered his head and stepped back. He wasn't going to participate, but he wasn't going to stop it either.

The sound of scornful laughter brought their attention back to the collapsed form of the boy.

Through his two swollen and blackening eyes, they could see the strength of his unwavering contempt, "Jeez, all you do talk. You guys just hit puberty or something?"

Already flushed and sweaty, the men turned fire engine red at the boy's words. Ofusa paled.

"Alright, that's enough playing around." The boss growled, growing impatient. "If we stick around too long, we'll catch the plague, and he obviously has a death wish, so let's just put an end to this kid and go home."

A ronin among the group unsheathed his sword and handed it to the boss. The katana was in poor condition, the grip frayed and the blade chipped and cracked. However, the boss decided, it was more than enough to end the life of a child.

"KANSHICHIROU!"

Upon seeing the man point a sword at her son, Ofusa found new strength. She broke from the arms that held her, launched herself at the man holding the sword, and latched onto his arm. He tried to shake her off but she bit down, embedding her teeth in his flesh and refusing to let go. After blood began to well from the wound, the boss jerked his arm back with so much force that it sent her body flying backwards, and then he struck her before she hit the ground. By the time she finally skidded across gravel and dirt, Ofusa was too dizzy to stand again, and too concussed to even form a coherent thought.

Kanshichirou saw his mother's body slide across the gravel. He saw the man strike her so hard her lip split and her head whipped back. He saw the wounds on her legs and back, saw how the men stared lustfully at her exposed skin, and then he saw red.

Rage powering his limbs, he screamed and charged the man with the katana, slamming his head into the distracted man's belly and driving the wind from him. In that split second of vulnerability, Kanshichirou wrested the katana from his grasp. And, just like he'd seen others do, he widened his stance, and wrapped both hands around the hilt, aiming the tip of the blade at the man in front of him.

The boss stood up, his face a mask of fury, and spat at the boy's feet. "Little shit."

Kanshichirou stared blankly back at him, not caring in the slightest. "Step away from my mother."

The other men unsheathed their own katanas, menacingly approaching the boy they assumed was a monster. Regardless of his hair, no normal child could have done what they had just witnessed. Kanshichirou glanced at his mother's crumbled form and hardened his resolve. It didn't matter if he went down fighting. What he would lose if he didn't fight was far more important than his life.

He lowered the katana, reversed his grip so he could run more easily with it, and then noticed the boss staring down at him with hate.

Kanshichirou licked his lips, narrowed his eyes, and grinned cockily, eliciting an enraged snarl from the man as he made a grab for his katana.

The sword's weight threw the boy off-balance when he tried to dodge, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground, but a red wind suddenly blew, and when the wind stopped, an injured but surprisingly cheerful looking man in a red coat had his arms wrapped around the boss and a pretty woman with a straw hat like the one he used to have was helping him regain his balance.

"Ahahaha, it's a good thing we made it in time."

The boss glared down at the man with his arm around him, sneering, "Who are-"

Cold metal pressed against his skin shut him up. To everyone around them, it looked as though the merchant was still wrapping a friendly arm around the man, since he'd made sure to get the drunk close to the side he'd managed to get his jacket on, which also happened to be the side where he kept his gun. Sakamoto left the smile on his face but dropped the warmth from his eyes, leaving them narrowed and cold. A mirthless smile could be ten times more threatening than blatant rage if done right, and Sakamoto had years of practice. "I wouldn't speak just now if I were you." He glanced pointedly at Ofusa's body. "You have some apologies to make."

"Apology?! I-" The gun jabbed him under his ribcage.

"Order a retreat and apologize or your stomach will accidentally spring a leak in the next thirty seconds."

"Accidentally, my ass!"

"Because I will accidentally shoot you."

"Bullshit!"

"Because I'm a pacifist, you see."

"Pacifists don't shoot people." The boss muttered furiously.

"Sure they do. Accidentally. And for your information," the beam on Sakamoto's lips took a turn towards cruel, "it's been twenty-five seconds."

At the sound of a gun cocking, the boss got down on his knees. "I'm sorry!" Kanshichirou swayed a little, exhaustion and shock taking its toll. "We only attacked you because you're infected-"

Kanshichirou stiffened. "I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not infected. This is my natural hair color." He turned his half-lidded eyes on his mother. Mutsu followed his gaze and walked to her side. Once she found a pulse, she took off her cape and covered her exposed shoulders and back with it.

Sakamoto, suddenly realizing who the boy with strong spirit and dirty katana reminded him of, blurted, "Did you get your hair color and natural perm from your father by any chance?"

If the brutalized woman on the ground was someone Gintoki loved and did the _nyaan nyaan_ with, none of the men were going to leave alive.

While Sakamoto was preoccupied with the thought of Gintoki possibly procreating, Kenkichi rushed to strike the man's back.

Mutsu, too far away and too late to intervene, screamed, "Sakamoto, watch out!"

He turned his head enough to see the blade descending, closed his eyes, and heard an abrupt yelp of pain.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Kenkichi's sword on the ground, the boy clutching a damaged hand, and a rather large rock.

"Good throw, Mutsu!"

Mutsu looked at the rock, bewildered. "I didn't throw that, Sir."

Frowning, Sakamoto turned to the boy with the same question on his lips, but the boy shook his head.

A groan from the rousing Ofusa drew their attention away from the rock.

Sakamoto turned to the boss, "Take your friends out of here. Now."

He nodded, rallied his group, and left before Ofusa opened her eyes.

 

  
"Are you feeling better now?" Sakamoto asked.

They'd found Ofusa a change of clothes and now it seemed she was in a stable enough condition to answer the myriad of questions he had whirling around in his head, while also getting some tea to drink at the stand he'd taken her to. Tea helped to calm nerves and replenish the spirit, so it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

Also, Mutsu suggested it.

She smiled warmly at him. "Much better. Thank you."

Now that the color was back in her face and her wounds were treated, she did look much better. There were shadows on her face that likely hadn't been there before, but that couldn't be helped. What bothered Sakamoto the most were the shadows he saw on the boy's face. While he'd learned that the boy was not Gintoki's son, it turned out learning that hadn't changed how protective he felt towards the boy at all, and it annoyed him that a kid with such a resemblance to his friend had also been forced to grow too quickly.

"Gintoki saved us, you know?"

Sakamoto, not really paying attention, agreed. Only for his face to go slack when he realized what the woman sitting beside him, drinking tea, had said.

"You knew Gintoki?"

Kanshichirou perked up at the mention, straightening in his seat at the counter.

Smiling, she recounted how Gintoki had taken care of her child for a day, how he and his friends had fought to help her keep custody of her son, and how they had helped her reconcile with her father-in-law.

Leaning over conspiratorially, she whispered in Sakamoto's ear, "Even though he was only a baby at the time, I think my son really admires that samurai."

A quick glance revealed the kid in question was giving his mother a flat look. When he noticed Sakamoto staring, he quickly turned his head, but not in time to hide the slight pinkish tint to his cheeks.

Sakamoto beamed.

Absently, Ofusa continued, "When the plague hit, I wondered what had happened to that samurai. " She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I know it's silly, but part of me thought that as long as that man and his friends were on the Earth, bad things couldn't happen."

Tentatively, Sakamoto took her hand, his expression gentle. "Could you tell me what happened?"

Emotions firmly tapped down, Ofusa mentioned everything that had occurred on Earth in the last five years.

When she was finished, Sakamoto said quietly, "And Gintoki? What happened to him?"

_You left your comrades to die._

"Gintoki hasn't been seen in five years."

_There's no one waiting for you anymore._

 

  
Once he heard those words, Sakamoto muttered a quick apology and sprinted down the street. Ofusa watched him go, sadness darkening her gaze.

Her son, his hair raven black after Mutsu helped him dye it, caught a glimpse of wavy, white hair shining in the crowd. His eyes followed the figure, a memory tickling at the edges, when it raised a hand in farewell. Immediately, the figure overlapped with the samurai from his memory and he went tearing after it, screaming, "Appo! Appo, wait!"

His mother couldn't follow him fast enough. "Kanshichirou, what-"

Exhausted, sore, and still hurt, he quickly became lost in the sea of bodies. They jostled his bruised body back and forth, until his breath hitched and the figures began to blur. "Appo!"

A strong grip plucked him from the sea and righted him outside of the crowd, near a concrete wall.

Confused and relieved, he almost missed the familiar voice say, "Catch, kid."

A cold and weighty object plopped in his grasp. Disbelievingly, he felt the sharp edges of the perspiring carton and sounded out the katakana spelled out beneath the brightly colored strawberries, "Su-to-ro-be-ri. Mi-ru-ku. Strawberry milk."

Eyes wide, he looked up from the precious carton to see the samurai from his memory smiling down at him. "I promised you we'd have a drink when you got older." He dangled his own carton of strawberry milk. "A samurai never makes a promise he can't keep."

For a while, they leaned against the wall together, drinking their milk in companionable silence. Kanshichirou sensed that Gintoki didn't want to talk about his new clothes or his white hair, so he didn't ask. And Gintoki didn't really talk about what had happened in the streets only a few hours before. All he'd said on the topic was that Kanshichirou had proven he was a man now, and that meant he had to continue protecting his mother.

"If I had the time, I'd teach you the sword myself."

Kanshichirou didn't look up from his sweet drink, keeping his eyes focused on its bright colors. "Can't you stay? My mom and I would be extra safe with you around. And you could teach me how to use a sword."

Gintoki downed another swig of his milk. "I can't."

Crushed, Kanshichirou turned watery brown eyes on him, "Why can't you stay?" Gintoki flinched as though the words caused him physical pain.

_Jeez, this strawberry milk is starting to become bitter._

"If I did, it would only put you and your mom in danger." He ruffled the boy's hair, frowning slightly when black dye clung to the bandages around his hands. "I know you don't want that."

Bangs fell over Kanshichirou's eyes, obscuring his expression, but he nodded and turned back to sipping his strawberry milk. Gintoki was looking up at the sky when he heard the first shaky, shuddering sob.

"It's really salty." He heard the boy at his side say. "This strawberry milk is way too salty."

For one shining instant, Gin forgot everything except for the crying boy at his side and reached out to hold him. It was only when he saw the marked bandages on his hands that he remembered why he couldn't - why he didn't have the right to - and pulled back at the last second.

Grimacing slightly, he replied instead with the only comfort he could. "Yeah, I know, kid. You'll get used to it, eventually."


	6. Don't say that

A fierce wind blew through the streets of Pattooine, kicking up dirt and stinging the faces of market dwellers. Some retreated indoors while most stayed outside, having no place else to go. They didn't know the winds carried a dragon.

Further down the road, a large group of Frog Amanto and men had gathered. They were armed to the gills with swords and guns, waiting impatiently for the merchant to run into them so they could each exact swift retribution for the humiliation he had caused them.

The two groups had come across each other complaining about a certain bushy haired merchant, compared notes and, realizing it was the very same merchant they were railing against, joined forces.

Although they bared their teeth with hungry anticipation, skin warm and bodies tense, they were not predators. True warriors are predators. These men were domestic dogs turned rabid. They gave up on living when it became too hard to do so and turned to surviving, abandoning responsibility the way a snake sheds its skin. Amanto who believe themselves superior yet stoop to petty insults, debauchery, vengeance fit well with these men, even if their alien bodies kept them from blending in with the mob completely. It doesn't matter what type of dirt it is, if you wet it and mix it with more dirt, it's just mud. Worse than dirt, nothing living or productive ever grew from the rabble waiting to ambush Sakamoto.

"We're gonna kill him for sure." The leader of the men turned to the leader of the Amanto with a grin.

At his words, the Amanto pulled his large lips back, showcasing toothless gums, resulting in the leader of the men trying to sidle away as surreptitiously as possible.

"Hey!" A man holding a spear called out. "I think I saw something!"

Rousing themselves, the group followed the man's gaze and saw a flash of red and light in the distance. Their minds conjured the image of a dragon's scale, but that was ridiculous.

Then they heard a roar.

"Get out of my way!"

The merchant looked as though he had lost all composure and he was injured, so the leader of the men scuffed, "Don't no one move! It's one guy, you chickenshits." He didn't see the roiling mass of draconic wrath some of his men could see. It drained them of color, turned the sweat on their skin cold, and froze their limbs.

Sakamoto saw they weren't moving, cursed under his breath, and fired six shots that ricocheted, turning six shots into twelve, and twelve into twenty-four.

Every man, Amanto and human alike, fell to the ground in boneless piles as he passed.

One man, the first to recover, twitched, patted his arms to make sure he was still solid, and exclaimed, "I-I'm alive? Alright-"

A wooden sandal landing crushingly on his face broke his nose and shut him up.

 

Breathing harshly, Sakamoto finally reached the helm of his ship. Some of his Kaientai looked down, brows narrowed with surprise and concern. "Is everything alright, Captain?"

"Guys!" Sakamoto called up. "Is there anyone suspicious up there? Are you okay?"

As his crew set about lowering a ladder, Keita, the youngest of the crew at fourteen, answered, "Everyone's fine, Captain. We haven't seen anyone suspicious."

"How'd you get those injuries? Did Mutsu beat you up again?"

Granny chewed on her lip as the others pulled the Captain on board and fussed over him, then she gripped her IV, and trembling, said, "….A-a-actually, I did see someone strange not too long ago."

All eyes turned to her.

"What?" Sakamoto asked, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible despite his rising panic. Behind him, Mutsu jumped on board. "Why didn't you say this earlier, Granny?"

Again, she chewed her lip methodically. She could have been pondering her answer, but chances were good she wasn't thinking about much of anything.

Frustration mounted as the seconds ticked past with no answer, until Sakamoto finally opened his mouth to repeat the question and she abruptly responded, "He told me he wasn't a suspicious person."

"That's it?" Sakamoto asked disbelievingly.

"He sounded like such a nice young man. He even asked me to stay below deck in case things got dangerous, but I told him I had to greet my Captain." She said this so cheerfully and obliviously that the implications of her words didn't sink in immediately.

"You talk too much, Granny." On the tip of the ship, his robes blowing about in the harsh gusts that still buffeted the planet, was the Enmi from before.

Sakamoto pulled his jacket on his other arm and loosened his scarf.

Meanwhile, Mutsu turned to the crew and looked pointedly at the canons, sending them scurrying away to do what they could to help their captain, while also keeping them out of danger. She unholstered her gun and waited for the best opportunity to interfere.

"What you were saying before," The merchant started, his voice deceptively light, "could you repeat it for me? It's been a while and a lot has happened since we last spoke."

In truth, it had barely been an hour, but the Enmi complied. "Though I doubt your memory is truly so faulty, I'll remind you. There's no reason for you and your crew to return to Earth. Sakata Gintoki is dead."

Tilting his head like a cat looking at a particularly curious mouse, Sakamoto twirled his gun and said, "Oh? And how would you know this? Did he tell you that he died?"

There was a pause. It was like a paper balancing on a needle's head. The paper can't stay on the needle's head forever, eventually it'll fall, and it doesn't matter when or where it falls because its destination is the same. No matter what the Enmi said, Sakamoto had already reached his limit. A fuse had been lit.

It was time for fire.

The Enmi finally replied, "I'm the one who killed him."

And the Dragon of Katsurahama exploded.

In the time it takes to blink, Sakamoto had gone from standing still to crouching on the Enmi's staff and aiming a gun at his head, brown eyes burning like smoldering coal. He pulled the trigger, but the Enmi had already begun to swing the staff and it shifted his position so the bullet only knocked the hat from his head, sending it fluttering to the ground while Sakamoto himself went sailing through empty air after the staff was yanked from underneath him. Hard metal smashed him in the face. Dimly, he heard the sound of glass shattering.

The force of the blow allowed him to flip in the air so he skidded across the floorboards on his feet when he fell.

It'd been a long time since his last serious fight. For the past hour, he'd really received no rest. The burning in his lungs and the warmth spreading underneath his bandages reminded him of that.

But that was fine.

As long as he could move, he could fight.

The Enmi leapt down, slicing the air with its staff. Sakmoto barely managed to get his pistol up in time to parry the blow and needed both hands to steady it. Shards of his glasses that hadn't fallen obscured parts of his vision, so he grit his teeth and focused on what he could see.

Two glowing eyes bore down on him, the pressure from the staff increased. It was all he could do to keep his arms from shaking under the strain. Deciding to take a risk, he suddenly ducked, releasing the pressure and driving the Amanto off balance. After that, he darted forward, quickly aiming at the Amanto's head from a low vantage point.

As though half expecting this, the Amanto brought his foot up and kicked Sakamoto in the ribs, driving him back. While he was still winded, clutching his chest and heaving on the ground, the Enmi moved forward, only to dodge quickly when another bullet nearly took his head off.

He turned around to see Mutsu rushing forward to keep him away from her captain and avoided three more bullets, all of them aimed for his vitals.

_Heh. What a scary woman._

He wondered briefly if he should just end the farce and abandon ship when he was forced to dodge the three barrels and chest full of tools she'd also thrown at his head.

Before she could get close enough to engage him in hand-to-hand combat, a fight he was certain he would lose, he hooked his staff around Sakamoto's pistol and flung it into the ocean.

"Hey," Sakamoto wheezed, "that was a gift." When the Enmi's attention was fully on his Vice Captain, the merchant pulled the scarf from around his neck and leapt onto the Amanto's back. He wrapped the cloth around his neck and pulled, feeling satisfied when he saw the bandaged hands claw at the fabric and sensed the shuddering desperation of lungs that had been deprived of air.

An elbow slammed into his side, nails scratched frantically at his arms, and yet he stubbornly refused to loosen his hold. It wasn't until the Amanto began to sink that he let his guard down, and by then it was too late to rectify his mistake.

When one second he had been on the Amanto's back, the next he was being pulled over the Amanto's head and driven straight into the floor. Bruises new and old screamed and the cut on his head reopened, coating his face in a new layer of blood that stung his eyes. Something that tasted like copper flooded his mouth. He viciously spat it out.

The Enmi grabbed a handful of his hair, forced his staff under his chin, and called to Mutsu, "Shoot me again and I'll kill your captain."

Mutsu lowered her gun, but she stared at the Enmi with so much hate he was certain she would tear his guts out and hang him with them the second she got the opportunity.

Best not to give her the opportunity then.

Sakamoto choked under the strain of the staff until he managed to get his fingers under it, then he shifted as much as he could and glowered. "You say you killed Kintoki. How did he die?"

_Seriously? Even now, you can't get my name right?_

The dangerous glint in the merchant's eyes faltered for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of doubt. "What I mean is… did he die alone?"

"Yes."

"Right." He forced a few more gulps of air down his throat. "The last thing he said… what was it?"

The Enmi was quiet for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the merchant as though he were wondering just what the merchant was planning. "I'm sorry."

Surprised, Sakamoto blurted, "What?"

"Those were his last words."

Without either noticing, the canons began to move their positions, each one aimed at the Enmi.

"Stop saying stupid shit…" Red eyes blazed with their first hint of true anger. "He wouldn't- he wouldn't dare say those words. Because he knows none of us would accept such a half-assed apology." Bucking, Sakamoto smashed his feet on the Amanto's shins and sank his teeth into the bandaged hand until he tasted blood again.

With a grunt, the Enmi flung him away and Sakamoto rolled across the ground, gasping, "I'm. Going. Back. To. Earth."

Frustrated, the Amanto shouted, "Why?! You have comrades here. You have a family here. That's what your Kaientai is, right? Why can't you just focus on what you have, instead of risking everything so you can go back to a planet that can't be saved anymore? This is your home! You chose this!"

"I chose both!" Staggering to his feet, Sakamoto yelled, "I've always been thinking about the Earth. I came here because I believed I could help it better from the stars."

"Isn't that just a nice way of saying you ran away? You averted your eyes so you wouldn't have to see your comrades die, and now that they have, you act like it's a surprise. A coward like you wouldn't survive five seconds on Earth."

That last sentence was much quieter than anything else the Enmi had said, and the words themselves without much feeling. Mutsu couldn't help but feel that this stranger didn't mean anything he was saying. Well, not all of it, at least. She hadn't even sensed any killing intent since he'd arrived. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like her captain was in the mood to realize that.

Well, there was one way to test her theory.

Keita ran up to her side, "Vice Captain, the canons were disabled, but we managed to get them working again."

"Good." Mutsu nodded approvingly. "Fire."

Sakamoto and the Enmi watched, stupefied, as canon balls flew towards both of them.

"Does your Vice Captain hate you?!" The Enmi demanded, realizing that there was plenty of time for him to avoid the canons, but only if he left the injured merchant to die.

Sakamoto wobbled and laughed a little hysterically. "You know she might a little."

Just as one of the canons was about to hit him, the Enmi stepped in front, blocking the merchant with his body, and sliced the canon ball in half.

It still exploded in his face.

Flame licked and ate at the bandages, leaving Sakamoto to watch in horror as the face of his friend appeared before him. White hair shown in the sunlight, and yet, that wasn't what surprised him the most. The crimson eyes peering back at him didn't burn at all. It was like the nanites streaming over them and painting his skin had consumed everything.

"Kintoki?" The merchant breathed the name like a prayer or a spell, hoping it would lead to things making sense again, but there was an unsettling lack of reaction from the man in front of him.

Trying to salvage something, he wasn't even sure what, Sakamoto forced a grin on his face, "Was this a prank, Kintoki? You said some really mean things, you know. I won't be satisfied until I give you a good punch."

Gintoki caught the slow, sluggish punch like it belonged to a child. "It's not a prank. This universe, the stars you love, I can't stand any of it, Sakamoto. Not anymore."

There are those who say the sound of a bond breaking is silence. It's when the arguing stops that people fall out of love. Silence kills what a bullet or a blade could never touch. For a while, Sakamoto struggled to speak but, for the first time, words failed him. He merely stared in silent disbelief.

"This future" Gintoki continued. "I'm going to erase it."

Sakamoto tore his hand away from Gintoki's grasp, snarling, "What are you talking about? You want to erase the universe? Everything? Why? Because you don't like the way Earth turned out?"

Hurt flashed across Gintoki's face, fast enough to be missed. He lowered his hand.

"Yeah. That's why." He grimaced. "I've never been a good guy, Sakamoto. I've always been a selfish bastard. Good things happened sometimes when I protected what was mine. That's all. Now, what's mine is being taken from me, and bad things are going to happen when I take it back."

"Like me and my crew being erased from existence?" Curious faces looking at the confrontation from above deck gasped. "Why did you come here, then? If this is all going to be erased, why bother telling us not to return to Earth?"

"And what about you?" Gintoki snapped back, showing the first signs of life since he'd been unmasked. "You were about to sail your crew headfirst into a planet that's stinking with nanites that are deadly to humans!"

Hands gripped Gin by his robes and shook him as Sakamoto bared his teeth and screamed, mere inches away from his face. "And I'm asking you, 'Why do you care?!"

"Because it might not work!" The hands let him go, more from shock than volition. "If it doesn't work, if I can't change the past, then I don't want more of my friends dying because of me. I can't-" The words grew too heavy and thick, until he couldn't speak without choking.

Pain etched itself on Sakamoto's body. Even though he knew the answer, he had to ask, "Why didn't you ask me for help, Kintoki? I would have helped you."

Tilting his head a little, Gintoki replied, "How could I? Even if I wanted to, even if the nanites inside me would let me, you weren't there, right?"

With that, he turned to leave, but Sakamoto clamped a hand on his shoulder. The white head of hair turned to show he was going to listen to whatever Sakamoto had to say. "If your plan doesn't work out, I'll come after you… Gintoki."

"Heh." Making sure the merchant couldn't see his face, Gin rubbed his head and replied, "Only you could turn my name into the worst kind of insult. That's fine with me, though." He smirked, looking a little like his old self. "If our positions were reversed, I'd have killed you, already. " Then he walked to the edge of the boat and leapt. The crew rushed to peer over the edge but, like a ghost, he'd already vanished.

The wind dyed down just as a cloud passed over the sun, casting a long shadow where Sakamoto stood staring at the sky. As Mutsu approached him, she saw that he was shaking, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. What little light remained from the sun reflected from the two steady streams flowing down his cheeks.

She reached for his head, pulling it close as she said, "Just this once, I'll let you soil my shirt."

Surprised and grateful, Sakamoto collapsed to his knees, bringing her with him. The crew came down from above deck, so that by the time he finally allowed himself to give voice to the rage and hurt brewing inside him, there were a million warm hands holding him together.

 

Gintoki was standing on the dock, hiding in the ship's shadow, when the sound of harsh sobs reached him. It tore him up in ways he thought he couldn't be torn up in, anymore. Every time he thought he couldn't possibly make things worse, he went and-

Pain lanced through his knuckles after he slammed his injured hand against the hard concrete.

"Damn… Can you blame me for hating a future like this, Sakamoto? Even though I hate tears, all I seem to do here is make people cry."


	7. Run, melos

Even though Snack Otose's was a shabby place in the middle of Kabukicho, it was a shining beacon for the lost, the lonely, and the broken. It was run by a wrinkly old crone that probably slept with a cigarette in her mouth. And on the second floor, a sign that read "Yorozuya Gin" could still be seen from the street. There were those who wondered if the reason she never rented out the second floor again was because there was no one willing to take it, but most knew the reason: She was waiting. Waiting for a silver haired samurai to find his way back home.

Gin hugged the fence when he approached, trying desperately not to be seen by anyone who may be lurking inside before he was ready. Another battle wasn't something he thought he could handle right now. Sakamoto had been one of his closest friends, but he'd never be forgiven for what he'd done to him.

He'd thought he'd needed to warn Sakamoto, but what if he'd just been lonely? Was that why he was visiting Otose now? Heh, what a stupid reason. Gin-san wasn't a brat, anymore. So why…

His thoughts trailed off when the second floor of Snack Otose rose above the fence. It shone so brightly his eyes watered.

"Stupid" He muttered while he scrubbed his eyes. "Why did I even come here?"

Red flashed a few feet in front of him, running ahead. A flash of sky blue and cloud white followed it. "Come on, Chin-san! Let's go."

His heart stopped beating.

They were there.

They were smiling and happy. Looking just like they used to. They were waiting outside the doorway expectantly. While they were distracted, he sank into a shadow.

Crawling back into the dark when the light was so close was worse than dying.

As the seconds stretched, he wondered what they were waiting for, and then he saw it: The giant dildo with the mustache. He had to stuff both hands in his mouth just to stifle an indignant shout.

What game was Gengai playing, giving his past self a rotten disguise like that? How was the great Gin-san supposed to let himself be killed by a walking testicle?!

And what was with that mustache? Did someone draw that on his face?

When he saw how Kagura and Shinpachi's faces brightened the second "Chin-san" joined them, pain filled his chest, one of the worst pains he'd ever felt. It was like his lungs were shrinking and he couldn't breath.

"There you are, Chin-san" Shinpachi called, his disapproval masking a smile. "What took you so long? We have to go find the Enmi! He could be anywhere."

 _Yeah,_ Gin thought to himself. _Like right under your noses._

"Ah, well, you see, Strawberry Milk-san was like 'Where are you going, Chin-san? Weren't we supposed to spend the day together?' And I was like, "This is serious. I need to find the Enmi, you know?' And Strawberry Milk-san was all, 'It's always 'Enmi this' and 'Enmi that' with you. Sometimes I think you care more about your work than me."

"SHUT UP!" Shinpachi screamed. "Don't talk about your favorite beverage like it's your girlfriend!"

Seemingly chastened, Chin-san strode forward, letting the other two fall into step.

As Gin watched them, the scene seemed to blur, and when he could see it clearly again, he saw the way they used to be. Shinpachi and Kagura, two kids chattering away aimlessly and grinning like idiots while he only half-listened.

To his momentary astonishment, his reaching hand intruded on the nice little vision. Without his permission, his hand had decided to try and grasp something he could no longer hold.

He snatched it out of the air before anyone could see it.

Yeah…

Being replaced was the worst.

A new resolve burned in his chest when he marched to the entrance of Snack Otose. The door bell's chime rang like a gong, thrumming in his chest. The place and everything about it made him ache to fall back into a role he could no longer fit.

Then the shoji door slid open, and he reconsidered his brief moment of nostalgia. The face appeared to be vaguely human, it might have even been a female at one point, but he seriously doubted it.

A cat eared man in a dress had opened the door.

The-Creature-Formerly-Known-As-Catherine called over its back in a low and gravelly tone, "Hey, Otose, we have a customer." There was a sound that could have been a reply, the shuffle of sandals on wood, and a swish of fabric, then, standing in front of him for the first time in five years, was the woman he'd promised to protect.

"Well, well, " she said as she took another drag of her cigarette. "You come here for a drink, customer? Or," her face hardened, "Are you here to hurt those two kids, Enmi?"

_Crap! I'm still in disguise._

Catherine looked about seconds away from screaming for help, so he thought quickly and said, "I'm here to apologize." Well, that got their attention, at least. "I promised a dead man I'd protect his wife until she kicked the bucket, but I haven't been around much, lately."

Otose's jaw hung loosely, her fingers dropped the cigarette she'd been holding. Catherine trembled, tears welled in her eyes until they overflowed, making her make-up run and badly frightening Gin.

"Gin?" Otose whispered.

Even though it was a pointless gesture, since he still had the bandages wrapped around his head, he took off his hat, hoping she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Yeah. It's me, Granny."

Catherine launched herself at his knees and clung there, sobbing grossly into his robes.

They all turned when the Tama-tank rolled up and pointed its guns at Gin.

"What are you doing, Tama-chan?" Catherine choked out, her eyes still streaming.

"Move aside, Catherine-san. My DNA scanners do not recognize Gintoki-sama."

Gin barked out a laugh, sounding truly villainous for the first time. Otose glanced at him with concern. It seemed to her that five years of isolation had not done wonders for her ward's sanity.

The mad glint in his one visible eye faded, instead widening with surprise when Catherine stood up and flung open her arms, face resolute as she prepared to shield him from the little tank.

"Heh," Gin chuckled. "I take back every bad thing I ever said about you, Catherine. Especially that thing I said about you getting uglier with age."

Without turning around, Catherine shot back, "You haven't said that yet, moron!"

Completely unapologetic, Gin replied, "What? I haven't? My bad."

Otose, still smiling at the familiar exchange, kneeled down so she could match Tama's height, and placed an old hand on the machine, "Tama-chan, do you think you could take Catherine out to the store? The bar is out of Strawberry Milk and I have a feeling we're going to be needing it." When Tama still didn't move, she added, "Look, I know you don't think that's Gintoki, but do you think you could trust me on this? Old people like me usually know what they're talking about."

Tama's upper body twisted to face Otose, "But-"

"Tama-chan," Otose scolded lightly. Then she activated her trump card, "You're my employee. Is it really okay to deny your boss this one favor?"

Apparently, that was enough to convince her, because the next thing Gin and Catherine saw were the guns being lowered. Now that she wasn't being threatened with certain death, Catherine's legs began to wobble with relief. She almost sunk to the ground, but Gin caught her around the elbow and pulled her to her feet. Since she was feeling unusually honest, she looked up and sincerely thanked him. "Come on, Tama-chan, let's go to the store."

"Don't thank me so honestly!" Gin called to Catherine and Tama when they were nearly out of sight. "It's creepy!"

"Hmph," Catherine stopped in her tracks so her could turn around and shout, "see if the cute me ever thanks you again, stupid!"

"Who's cute?!"

Otose, smiling from the doorway, straightened up and walked back inside, tossing over her shoulder, "You should come in for a drink before someone sees you dressed like that, Gintoki."

Hearing those words was like being dipped in a freezing river. He immediately sobered up and followed her inside.

The bar was just like he remembered it. Since he couldn't leave the staff outside, he left it leaning against the wall and took a seat, while Otose fixed him a drink.

"You look like you could use one," she'd said. "Or I imagine you would, if I knew what you actually looked like under those bandages."

The grin he could feel dancing across his lips was as cheer filled as a funeral. "Does a watchdog that took a five year break really have the right to show his face again?"

"What nonsense are you spouting?" The sake noiselessly slipped into his cup, clear and light as cherry blossom petals in the spring. "You've protected me all this time, haven't you?"

Bemused, he slowly shook his head.

Otose continued, "Those children have protected Kabukicho in your place for five years. They've protected me. You haven't broken your promise at all, Gintoki. Because those kids protected what you left behind."

They were nice words, but, "I caused this." It was out before he could stop it, and he could suddenly see this one moment of peace burning to ashes, just like every other interaction he'd had lately.

Instead of jumping down his throat, Otose simply hummed for a moment. "I thought that might be the case." Before he could recover from the shock of what she'd just said, she continued, "You're planning on fixing this, aren't you?"

Gin's mouth twitched. Even with the nanomachines in his blood and the bandages on his body, it was impossible for him not to feel more like his old self in front of her. It was a good feeling. With a touch of cockiness, he said, "That's the plan."

Otose allowed herself a small smile, looking at Gin almost proudly as she said, "It was a stupid question. Giving up isn't like you."

For a few minutes, Gin merely sipped his sake through a gap he'd made in his wrappings and Otose polished her drinks at the bar. When he'd finished the glass, he stood up and asked how much he owed her for the drink.

"It's on the house," Otose replied. "But you haven't paid your rent in five years. I don't think you could pay back the debt you owe me even if you worked here for the rest of your life."

Gin grabbed his staff and chuckled. "That sounds tempting, but there's somewhere I have to be before sunset."

Once he was at the door, he heard her call, "If you plan on doing something that'll make you disappear again, those kids won't forgive you, you know. A brat like you should know he can't handle everything on his own."

Hand already on the doorframe, he paused. Then he turned, and Otose, in her mind's eye, could see his real face smiling back at her. His eyes were red with strain and the dark circles underneath them suggested he'd either been having nightmares again or he wasn't sleeping at all. The sight cut at her heart.

People only lied with a smile when they felt alone. That's why it was the worst sort of smile to see on someone she loved.

"I would do anything for those two, and they would do anything for me. I know that. But like I keep telling people, I'm a selfish guy. I just can't stand to see them suffer."

She watched his back until the door slid shut behind him, then she sat down and poured herself a drink. "Yeah, you're a real bastard." She took a long sip, and finished, "Come home soon, Gintoki."

 

Otae wondered what her room looked like. Her body's clock told her it was around sunset, so that meant there must have been a beautiful crimson red flooding the room, mixed with honey gold and yellow the color of sunflowers. If she imagined it hard enough, it was almost like she could see again.

A presence she hadn't felt before nearly stopped her heart. The pace of her breathing hastened. Her hands clenched at her sides in panic, but, seeing her distress, the figure quickly assured her, "Otae, calm down. It's just me. It's good ol' Gin-san."

Hesitantly, she replied, "Gin-san?" Sounding sheepish, she continued, "Oh, how embarrassing. I didn't know you were there. I didn't make you wait too long, did I?"

The sound of two stones grinding reached her ears, but his response was gentle, "No. I just got here, actually. I wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing."

A weight on her chest sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. Eyes narrowed, she put as much of a growl into her voice as she could manage. "What do you think you're doing, Gintoki?"

The hand withdrew immediately, and, she noted with some satisfaction, he sounded just as afraid of her as he always did when he stuttered, "I-i-it's not like that, Otae-san. I was just checking your heartbeat."

She frowned. "Couldn't you have just checked my pulse?"

It sounded like he was sheepishly scratching his head. "Um, yes. That would have worked, actually." He sounded so embarrassed she decided to let it go.

"So, how was it?"

"Like a Jack Rabbit."

Cloth shifted by her side. A gentle hand touched her hair. "I think I liked it better in the pony tail." He said softly.

She hummed. "I did, too. But a pony tail wouldn't be very practically for lying in a bed all day and all night, now would it?"

The hand stroking her hair trembled slightly, making her regret her words a little.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asked, maybe looking to change the topic. She willed some strength to her arms to see if she could lift them, but the only thing she could manage to do was lift her fingers.

"I don't think I can, Gin-san."

Her chest convulsed, throat tightening as she turned her head to cough and felt warmth coat the inside of her mouth. Soft fabric wiped what little left her mouth off of her chin and lips.

Part of her could feel the sun sinking, and it felt like it was taking her with it.

"Ne, Gin-san, have you ever heard the story of Melos?"

The fabric beside her rustled a bit. She guessed he was settling into his chair, preparing for a long story.

"I haven't."

Of course, even if he had he wouldn't have said so.

"Melos tried to kill the King- the King was a terrible tyrant, you see - but he failed. The King was going to have him executed, but Melos begged to be allowed to see his sister's marriage before his execution." She stopped, pausing for breath. "The King agreed to let him go, on the condition that his friend take his place. If Melos didn't return by the time the sun set on the third day, his best friend would die."

She stopped again, this time staying silent, until, finally, she fixed her watery eyes on the warm presence at her side, and admitted, "Gin-san, I'm… really scared, after all. Even though I don't want to be. I don't think I'm ready to die. There's still so much I want to do. And-"

Fast enough to take her breath away, she felt her body lifted from the bed, two strong arms wrapped around her.

She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin.

"I'm not going to let you die." He held her fragile body close, speaking the words into her hair.

The sudden withdrawal of his body heat made her want to cry. "Gin-san? Where are you going?" Her eyes groped fruitlessly in the dark.

It felt like he was going away. It felt like he wasn't coming back.

"Gin-san?"

She poured all the strength she had left into her right hand and reached for his retreating presence.

But he was already gone.


	8. You can't break my soul

_Gin-san!_

The second he'd realized how quickly Tae was fading, he'd decided it was high time to bring the happy days those two brats were obliviously spending with his past self to an end. Even though he should have done it sooner, he'd put it off. Sure, he'd told himself he needed to wait for Gengai to fix the time machine, but that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was he hated to be the one to take away their happiness again.

Seeing Otae the way she was woke him up. He ran from her to find the time machine, kidnapped it, and then convinced it to help him, which wasn't hard, since it'd been made for him originally.

Then he'd waited among the empty floors and ruined columns for his younger self to find him.

It was strange, seeing his younger self. He hadn't been focusing before, but when he concentrated on looking through the eyes of the nanomachines and actively tried to see through the disguise, he could see his own face staring back.

Jeez, he was barely older than Shinpachi and Kagura. Despite that, ugly, black self-loathing rose in his gorge at the sight of his own face, still blissfully unaware that he was the cause of so much suffering, and he knew he could draw on that to kill his younger self if he needed to.

That was what he told him himself, but after he'd bashed his younger self's head against the stone wall and pitched him down the flight of stairs; after his body stilled, seemingly unconscious, and he'd had every opportunity to thrust the staff through his chest, ending it all; he found that his body screamed against it.

Even if it was his younger self, even if everything was his- their fault, he was still innocent. That moment's hesitation resulted in his loss.

His opponent's bokuto punctured his stomach, sending him stumbling back until he crumpled on the stairs.

It was over. He was dying. The world was going to be saved. And all he could think was: _Finally._

 

After the past Gin-san pulled his bokuto as gently as he could from his other self's chest and left, the supposedly dead body cracked open an eye, sighing, "I knew it couldn't be that easy."

The wound was mortal. There was no denying that. Not many men walked away from a fist-sized hole in their stomach, but the nanomachines in his bloodstream wouldn't let him die quickly. They would keep repairing the wound and staunching the blood loss until there wasn't enough left to keep him breathing.

Since he knew it was coming soon, he closed his eyes and waited for death.

"Gin-san?"

Red eyes snapped open.

_No._

He'd finally made peace with his fate, so why- _why were they here now_?

Standing in the doorway were the two people he wanted to see the most and least in all existence. He'd never wanted them to see him this way.

Disbelief was written all over their faces, slowly melting into horror. They each took a tentative step forward, then they broke into a run.

Gin screamed, "Don't come any closer!" They stopped in their tracks, rocking back as if struck.

"Gin-"

He turned his face aside, avoiding their eyes. His voice hitched a little when he pleaded, "Please, Shinpachi-kun, Kagura-chan. I- I didn't want you to see me like this."

Instead of backing away, they straightened their backs, marching forward with determination shining in their gaze.

"What makes you think we care what you want, Gin?" Shinpachi asked as he closed the distance.

"You've been gone for so long" Kagura added, "what gives you the right to boss us around?"

They stopped at his feet.

The blood pooling around their mentor spoke volumes, but Shinpachi refused to sound weak, so he kept the tremor out of his voice and, together with Kagura, smiled as they said, "Welcome back, Gin-san!"

It was almost too good to be true. Their voices weren't just in his head anymore, their smiles were finally meant for him, and-

His arms rose from his sides. Desperation filled him as he waited, terrified, for their reaction.

The two of them clasped each of his groping hands in their own, and then they burst into tears, leaping into his arms.

It hurt to hold them again, but only in the way cleansing an infected wound hurts. It was warm, like winter nights under a kotatsu. It was everything he'd ever dreamed about and more.

"Kagura." He muttered, remembering the taste and shape of their names in his mouth. "Shinpachi." His hands found their way into their hair, and he pulled them close, a genuine smile on his face. With their arms around him, he'd never felt more whole.

"Where did you go, Gin-chan? Did you have to leave? Why didn't you take us with you?"

Burying a painful smile in her hair, he replied, "It's not because I didn't want to. I would have given anything to be by your side."

As happy as he was, there was a guy on the roof who needed to say goodbye to them.

Softly, he said, "Listen, you two, the big guy with the third S&M film strip, he's on the roof, right? If you don't catch him soon, he'll leave without saying goodbye."

Confusion colored both of their expression, then they remembered, "Chin-san!"

They scrambled for a second, stopping only to silently ask if it was really all right to leave him. He waved a hand weakly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be here when you get back."

"You promise?" Kagura asked, knowing he would never break a promise to them.

He entwined his pinky finger with theirs. "I promise." Slowly, he unlocked his pinky, leaving other two looking lonely without it. "Now go."

Smiling, they wiped their tears away, nodded briskly and then taking off on lighter feet to find the owner of the third filmstrip before he disappeared.

Alone again, he felt the strength seep from his arms and legs.

_Sorry, Shinpachi, Kagura… I never got to thank you. I could laugh, I could fight, because you were by my side, but… it looks like I can't keep my word this time._

The floor and ceiling in front of him blurred and dimmed. His lids felt like two weights tied to his head, keeping them open was almost as much work as breathing. Everything was too heavy and every inch the sun sank was matched by the slowing of his heartbeat.

Something purple stepped into his line of sight.

"DIVINE PUNISHMENT!"

Fireworks exploded as a fist slammed against his cheek, throwing him sideways.

His senses momentarily returned, he clapped a hand against his stinging cheek and glowered up at whoever it was that ruined his touching death scene.

A grinning Katsura met his glare with a grin. "That was for leaving me behind."

"Zura?" Well, would miracles never cease. Gin caught sight of the bandage around his left eye and flinched. "Aren't you going to hit me again? You've probably remembered who took your eye by now."

Katsura stroked the bandage thoughtfully. "Nope. To be honest, this was my least favorite eye. I was thinking of getting rid of it, anyway."

When his words finally sunk in, Gin could only stare at Katsura in slack jawed disbelief. The silence stretched until Katsura uttered an irritated, "What?"

In response, Gin smiled, scratching the back of his head in that odd habit of his, "It's nothing. I just forgot how annoyingly kind you can be."

"Don't say embarrassing things, Gintoki. It isn't like you." To be fair, nothing about the way he was right now was very like him, but he let it go without comment.

Things actually had a nice vibe to them for a while, and then Katsura had to go and be weird again.

He bent over, trying to throw Gintoki over his shoulder like a bag of rice. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Gintoki didn't budge an inch. Huffing from the few seconds of exertion, Katsura looked up at Gin, who was very much judging him, and asked, "Gintoki, have you gained weight?"

"No, you idiot! You're just super weak!"

Nodding like this had helped him discover the mysteries of multiplication, Katsura called out, "Hey, this guy here says I'm weak. Think you guys could come in and help me lift him?"

Two men stepped out from behind ruined columns, emerging from the shadows like specters.

"Yo, Gintoki." The smaller man threw up a hand in greeting, while the second only laughed.

"You?" Gin coughed. Astonishment and agony fought for dominance over expression until astonishment finally won out. "What are you doing here?"

Takasugi answered first. "We came here to pick up an idiot, obviously. What does it look like?"

"And I'm here because Shinsuke made me come."

Whirling on Sakamoto, Takasugi snapped, "Made you come? You threatened to shoot me if I didn't swing by to pick you up!"

"Oh, yeah. That happened, didn't it? Ahahahaha!" As expected, Takasugi slapped him upside the head. It was so much like old times it was disturbing.

What was this, anyway? He was sure he'd messed everything up with them. He'd even accepted that he was going to die alone. Why had they come for him?

Gin glanced at the man standing next to him with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Was this your doing, Zura?"

"My doing?" Katsura scoffed, placing a finger on his temple. "You erased my memories, right?" He gestured to the two bickering idiots. "This was all those two." He peeked a little, sliding his eyes to the side so he could see Gintoki's face, but he'd averted his eyes. Still, Katsura grinned, having a pretty good idea of what expression he was showing.

It looked like the winner of this scuffle was Takasugi, since Sakamoto was a giggling collection of bruises on the ground that Takasugi easily stepped over to get a better look at Gintoki. He cocked his head to the side, curious, "What's up with the bandages? You losers decide to copy me or something?"

While he had a feeling that comment wouldn't be taken well, the reaction he got was a bit more insulting than even he'd anticipated. Gintoki turned to Katsura, his face a mask of horror, saying, "Zura, get these bandages off my face. We need to burn them."

Meanwhile, Katusra clutched convulsively at his own bandages with a similar look on his face. Ripping them off would mean exposing his wound, but, oh, the thought was tempting.

Indignant, Takasugi complained, "What's the problem with looking a little like me?"

"I don't wanna look like a Bakasugi." Gintoki said simply.

"Don't just turn my name into an insult whenever you feel like it!"

With a pout and slight turn of his head, Katsura added, "I don't want to look like a terrorist."

"YOU ARE A TERRORIST!"

"I'm a Joui patriot" replied the terrorist. "Your argument is invalid."

Watching them bicker, Gin felt his lips twitch. An annoying itch irritated both of his eyes, making it absolutely necessary he never blink.

Sakamoto stood and brushed himself off, giving his companions a fond look as he did so. Since one of them would need to carry Gin out of the ruins and Katsura couldn't do it, maybe he'd offer to give it a go.

This plan was vetoed by shortest of the group. "Forget it, Tatsuma. If you drop him from that height, he'll die." With a click of his tongue, he took in the wound in Gintoki's side, thinking to himself that he'd seen the silver samurai survive worse. "Oi, Gintoki, you really can't stand on your own?"

The question seemed to hit a nerve. Markings in his red eyes increased their pace until they looked like the streaming lines of a living curse.

"If I could move," Gin growled, his voice low. "I would have stood up, already."

Well, that settled that.

Against Gin's protests, he hefted the man up and over his shoulder, only to inhale sharply at how light he was. Hoping Gin wouldn't notice, he threw Katsura a questioning glance, but the infuriating man pretended not to notice.

It didn't take long for Gin to stop complaining, though his complete lack of struggling worried the others a bit.

The sun was almost completely below the horizon by the time they stepped past the outer walls of the building. They didn't know where they were going, and they figured it didn't really matter. If time really was being rewritten, then they'd be erased soon, anyway.

While they walked over scraps of metal and loose stone, something Sakamoto kept getting his foot caught in, Katsura pestered Gintoki with questions.

"Have you been getting enough rest, Gintoki? You look exhausted. Did you eat enough of your vegetables? I know how much you like sweets, but a good and balanced meal is vital for a healthy-?"

"Shut up!" Gin snapped. "What are you, my mom?

"That's enough of your lip, young man. Now, answer the question."

As they bantered, the last rays of the sun vanished, until only one, faltering light could be seen.

Gin fixed his eyes on that last light. He let his eyes close, a sad smile on his face. "I guess there are worse things that could have happened to me than meeting you three idiots." Well, being a little more honest wouldn't hurt. Not now, anyway. "What I mean is: Thanks for everything, Takasugi, Sakamoto, Zu-" He took a deep breath and exhaled, "Katsura."

After his last word, the single lingering light vanished from the horizon, and his head fell.

Takasugi didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened. The life that had vibrated under his fingertips disappeared, leaving something cold and unmoving where his comrade used to be. Even though he'd experienced this before, losing someone he'd grown up and fought with still felt like losing a part of his own flesh.

But it shouldn't feel that way. Yes, they'd been friends for a long time, but they'd been enemies longer. So why was the deepest part of his heart screaming like he'd lost a brother?

He turned to Sakamoto, catching sight of the glittering wetness that streamed down his cheeks. It seemed he'd already realized.

"Hey, Gintoki" Katsura said, "It's Zura, not Katsura. I don't want to be called Katsura by you." He lightly patted Gin's cheek. "Come on, say something. Are you crying? Is that it?"

What was his relationship to Gintoki, anyway? Childhood friends? Comrades? A brother?

A brother was someone who, when you looked back on all your favorite memories, just seemed to keep popping up. He's someone you laughed with, cried with, fought with, got into trouble with.

_"Yo, Shouyou-sensei. Now I know what this looks like, but Zura made me steal the cookies."_

_"WHAT?!"_

_"Oh, hey, Zura."_

Someone who told you when you were being stupid, who kicked you in the head if he saw you going down the wrong path, and someone who'd tease you if he found out you had a crush on a girl.

_"If you ever need a wingman for Ikumatsu, just let me know."_

He's someone who'd protect you, even if it hurt him, even if it made him cry. He'd protect you even if you didn't want to be protected.

_"If you have time to think of a beautiful end, then why not live beautifully until the last?"_

No matter how he thought about it, Gintoki fit all of those qualifications. Gintoki was the stupid brother he'd grown up with. And he'd come back from worse. So why wasn't he waking up?

"Oi, Zura," interrupted Takasugi. "Cut it out. That guy's already gone."

Biting his lip, Katsura stayed his hand and turned to the other two. They were both trembling. He turned back to the body of his brother and started to cry.

Colors leeched from their surroundings as the world began to fade from existence. Not many of them commented on it. It barely even registered when the oblivion encroached on their own bodies, the colors and lines that made up their existence slowly fading into white.

The only thing that changed was Takasugi grabbed Sakamoto and Katsura's hands. It didn't matter to him, being erased from existence. He just wanted to feel the warmth of his comrades' hands one more time before the end.

Fading away together with these idiots?

There were worse things that could happen.


	9. Smile

Sakata Gintoki didn't want to open his eyes.

If he opened them, it would be undeniable proof that he was still alive. And if he was still alive, then that meant he'd failed.

He was drained. Exhausted. Completely shattered.

And there was no left for him to protect, so-

"Get off me, you stupid moose!"

"Ahahaha!"

…What?

One heavy eyelid cracked open, revealing the unexpected sight of Takasugi trying to disentangle his limbs from Sakamoto. It looked like they'd both been dumped in a pile on the ground, their positions the result of Sakamoto being dropped on top of the leader of the Kiheitai.

On his other side, he spotted Katsura clambering to his feet, staring in awe at the empty white and endless expanse they'd been dumped in, then clasping a hand to his completely undamaged left eye. The light blue yukata, with its sunny gold sash, and the pure white haori that draped his body weren't what he'd been wearing for the past few years, but they suited him better. And he seemed rather pleased.

"Alright," he cheered. " I don't look like Takasugi, anymore!"

"Oi! What's wrong with looking like me?!"

Deep in his chest, there was a flutter of relief at the sight of them, followed by a sinking, crushing dread. It was great they were okay. However, he'd died. Finally- finally, it'd been over and he could rest. A samurai kept his word until his death. Did he really have to keep it after?

_Our comrades, everyone, please take care of them for me, okay? Let's make it a promise._

He was drained. Exhausted. Completely shattered.

But he could move.

 _This is stupid,_ he thought as he strained to move his stiff muscles. All he wanted was to fall asleep and never wake up, so why was he trying to stand?

The answer was obvious, of course.

Because he could move.

Because even if he was dead or cursed or erased from existence, he still had a promise to keep.

The brush of a yukata against his back and the smell of sandalwood roused his dulled senses.

For reasons he didn't fully grasp, his instincts starting screaming at him to get up. He had to stand.

And he tried. He pushed against the ground, fighting to get to his feet without knowing why he was suddenly so desperate, only to slam his head against the colorless floor when his elbows buckled. Apparently, pain was something they could still feel. Biting his lip to suppress a groan, he readied himself to try again.

"Give it a few more seconds, Gintoki." A soft, familiar voice said, its gentle tone stirring a memory he'd never forgotten, no matter what he went through. "Rigor Mortis had already set in by the time you were brought here."

Even though the voice itself was calm, it created a tempest in Gintoki's heart. There wasn't anything that could have stopped him, not paralysis or death, from standing once his clouded eyes caught the hem of a flowing grey yukata.

Before the man could even begin his next sentence, Gin had already started lumbering to his feet, swaying slightly as he forced his stiff limbs to bend.

Panting, he lifted his head to see someone he'd longed to see so many times he'd lost count, looking just like he had fifteen years ago.

"Shouyou-sensei…"

Once he managed to say that, he hacked and coughed stale blood, clearing it from his throat, while his teacher rubbed his back. Just like he had when Gintoki was still a child. Meanwhile, the others looked on in disbelief.

When Gintoki had finally calmed, Shouyou-sensei graced him with the gentle smile his students remembered, grey eyes glittering mischief.

"Even as an adult, you're still my most troublesome student. You've grown into a fine samurai, Gintoki."

Since the attention wasn't focused on them, Sakamoto tried elbowing Takasugi, "Hey, do you know that guy? Shinsuke?" Catatonia seemed to be catching, though.

The only response he got was a whispered and disbeliefing, "Shouyou-sensei?"

Their sensei heard him, turning his brightest smile on Takasugi. As he approached, Sakamoto had the faintest impression of a grinning lion bearing down on them. Far as he could tell, Katsura, Gintoki, and Takasugi were all put out of commission just at the sight of this guy, and if monsters like them could respect someone this much, then he must have been more than a pretty face.

Still, a friend of theirs was a friend of his.

Shouyou-sensei came to a stop in front of Sakamoto, "Hello." He shook his hand. "My name is Yoshida Shouyou, head of the Shouka Sonjuku school for swordsmanship." Gesturing towards the three statues, he added, "These three are my precious students. Are you a friend of theirs?"

In response, Sakamoto laughed, his cheerful demeanor and light hearted attitude mixing well with the peaceful serenity Shouyou-sensei exuded. "My name's Sakamoto Tatsuma. If you're asking me, I'm most definitely their friend." A glance in the shell shocked Gintoki's direction betrayed his thoughts. "It hasn't always been easy, though."

To his surprise, Shouyou-sensei bowed slightly. "I understand. My students are extremely hard to deal with. Thank you for being their friend."

This show of sincere gratitude threw him off balance, but Sakamoto managed to accept the gratitude without stuttering or falling on his face. He made sure not to try and wave it off, as his experience as a merchant had taught him that downplaying one's actions when given gratitude could be construed as insulting, since it implied that the other's elevated opinion of him was the result of faulty judgment, and no one, especially a samurai, liked to be told they were humbling themselves before someone who didn't deserve it.

Still, Takasugi looked on in shock until Shouyou-sensei turned to him.

It was like staring at a ghost. The back he'd been chasing for years was standing right in front of him. It was like finding a fresh, unsullied rose in a trash bin or a child in a graveyard. Unexpected and beautiful and unbelievable.

Slowly, he reached out to make sure the man standing in front of him was real, his name on his lips, the last prayer of a dying man.

Shouyou-sensei lifted a balled fist, held it the air for a few seconds as he continued to smile sweetly, and then pounded it down on Takasugi's skull, driving his body into the ground until only his head could be seen bobbing above it.

"Destroy everything I left behind, will you?" He grinned down at his dazed student, baring his sword arm and flexing it. "You're a hundred years too early to even try it."

There was something cosmically unfair about waiting fifteen years to see a man who promptly punched you in the head when you were finally reunited, but he'd never had any illusions about sensei liking how he'd lived his time on Earth. If he were being completely honest with himself, he'd thought he'd never see Shouyou-sensei again, and he'd accepted that. Men like him didn't go to the same places men like Shouyou-sensei went to when they died.

And yet, despite everything that had happened, he was still just glad to see his teacher again.

Katsura apparently shared that sentiment, because he launched himself at his teacher's feet, wrapping himself around him like a monkey. "Shouyou-sensei!" His voice full of emotion and his eyes brimming unashamedly with tears, he continued, "I'm so happy to see you again!"

Patting his head affectionately, Shouyou-sensei replied, "And I, too, Kotarou-kun." Though," Sadness flickered across his features. "I could have waited a bit longer."

Catching his meaning, Sakamoto wondered aloud if they were really all dead. Shouyou-sensei hummed as he thought it over. "Not dead so much as these versions of you never existed. It seems Gintoki felt he had to take extreme measures when turning his blade on himself didn't work."

"WHAT?!" Katsura squawked with outrage. Shouyou-sensei turned around to see his first student trying to quietly slink away. "Gintoki! How dare you try to take your life when you're the one who told me I should live beautifully 'til the end!"

Irritated past his limit, Gintoki stopped in his tracks, turned around, and screamed, "I only said that because I didn't want you to die, Bakazura!" He faced away again quickly, but not before they caught sight of his raw eyes.

Katsura, not one to back down, yelled, "I don't want you to die, either! Get back here so I can lecture you properly!"

Instead of answering, Gintoki just resumed walking away.

 _Oh,_ Shouyou-sensei thought, realizing why this scene seemed so familiar.

While Takasugi continued to decorate the floor, Katsura and Sakamoto were already running to drag Gin back. Watching this with an amused air, Shouyou-sensei allowed himself a small smile.

When he'd first adopted the silver haired child from the field of corpses, he'd been feral, distrustful, and most of all, scared. He'd been so afraid Shouyou-sensei would throw him out if he did something wrong that he'd walk away, trying to distance himself so the inevitable abandonment wouldn't hurt as much, so it wouldn't break him.

During his first few months at the dojo, he'd broken a vase. It hadn't been anything expensive, a poor samurai just starting his own school wouldn't have owned anything like that, but it'd scared Gintoki enough that by the time Shouyou got back from shopping in the market, the boy had already packed up his things and left.

The memory made him chuckle. He'd been so frightened back then, terrified of losing this boy he'd just met, that he dropped all the groceries, picked him up by the collar, and carried him back to the dojo so he could explain that there were things in his life that were far more important to him than a vase. He may have also said that it was a special vase. One that granted wishes when you broke it.

_So… you're not going to throw me away?_

_Never._

Maybe Gin had become a little too willing to bend the rules after that; it never changed the simple reality that his heart was always in the right place.

And now, here he was, a full-grown adult, still trying to push him away.

"Hey! Let go of me! I'll get you two for this!"

"This is payback for damaging my ship."

"My eye may be healed, but the emotional scars may never fade."

Obviously, it had been far too long since he'd taught his students.

It wasn't long before Katsura and Sakamoto had hauled the protesting Gintoki back by his arms and dumped him in front of Shouyou. The moment they let go, he quieted, his eyes determinedly facing away from his sensei.

Just as he had with Takasugi, Shouyou lifted a balled fist. Gintoki, who saw it through his peripheral vision, flinched, then he stilled himself and waited, braced for it.

"Gintoki" Shouyou-sensei began. "do you know why I am angry with you?"

Slowly, Gintoki nodded. "I broke my promise. I swore to you I'd protect everyone." He clenched his fists and bowed his head, trembling with shame. "Instead of that… instead of that, everyone suffered. And it was my fault."

Always so stubborn, this child.

"It's true. I did ask you to take care of everyone, Gintoki." The gentle words hit like a slap. "But it's also true I never told you to do it alone."

Warm arms flung themselves around Gintoki and drew him close, until he was overwhelmed with the scent of sandalwood and the familiar touch of a grey yukata. Long strands of hair moved against his face as he tried to turn to face his sensei, because he didn't understand...

"You made a mistake, Gintoki." Shouyou explained. "You made a mistake and you tried to fix it. That's all anyone can do. That's what it means to live."

After five years of living as a corpse, those words freed him. Not completely, but it was a start. And a start was enough.

And if his eyes leaked a little when he quirked his lips into a genuine grin for a teacher, then it couldn't be helped.

But still, he had to know. If he never found out what happened to Kabukicho, he'd never be able enjoy the afterlife without regrets. And this was the afterlife. His sensei wouldn't be able to hold him, otherwise. He knew that better than anyone. "Do you think it worked?"

Shouyou frowned. "You mean your brilliant plan?" Katsura narrowed his eyes with suspicion at what this "brilliant plan" entailed. Shoyou debated telling him just to see him go off on Gintoki, but the poor boy had been punished enough.

When Gintoki nodded, a meek nod that didn't suit him, Shouyou passed a hand over the floor. It rippled, transforming into a puddle, and on its surface they could see two children, a girl and a boy, laughing and smiling with a silver-haired samurai.

Astonished, Gintoki could only choke, "H-how?"

"Your friends saved you." The pride in Shoyou-sensei's voice was palpable. "You've led a life worth dying for, Gintoki. Though your willingness to do so is a little unsettling."

Rolling his eyes, Gintoki replied, "That loses some of its impact, coming from you, Sensei."

Meanwhile, Katsura, who had been poking Takasugi in the mouth and pulling his finger away every time he tried to bite him, rose like a kraken from the depths of Hell. "Giiiintoookiii? What 'plan' was sensei talking about?"

"I'm not telling you." Gintoki said stiffly.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll get upset and it's annoying."

Teeth grinding, Katsura ground out, "I won't get upset."

"It's obvious you're already upset!" He turned to Shouyou, speaking loudly so they could all hear, "Listen, I'm not going to apologize for trying to protect what's important to me. Maybe if I'd thought a little harder, I could have figured out a way to save my own life, but that's never mattered to me. Those kids told me once their lives wouldn't fun without me, but a boring life is better than no life at all. If I could go back, I'd still put them over me. I'd do it again. I'd do it every time."

To his surprise, instead of meeting further argument, two hands squeezed his shoulders. Looking down at him fondly, Katsura and Sakamoto both agreed that, "If that's the way it is, we'll be sure to value your life for you."

Embarassed, Gintoki did his best to shrug them off, though this only led to Sakamoto leaning on his head.

Shouyou-sensei glanced down at Takasugi, who hadn't said anything, and raised an eyebrow, drawing this response: "I've spent quite a few years trying to kill Gintoki, so I'm not going to say I'm going to protect his life or anything lame like that." Seeing his teacher's expression darken, he hastily added, "Wait wait wait, I'm not done yet." After he made sure to catch Gintoki's eye, he finished, "I'd protect his soul, though. It's the least I can do for a fellow disciple of Yoshida Shouyou."

"Heh" A lazy grin formed on Gintoki's face. "Get your own lines, Bakasugi."

Without giving Takasugi a chance to reply, the floor suddenly spat him out, letting him stand at his full height, which was still not as tall as any of the other men present. Grinning, Gintoki wondered aloud if maybe Shouyou could have left him in time-out a little longer, setting Takasugi off.

He walked over to Gintoki, paused, and then kicked him in the shin. Inevitably, this lead to the duo trying to punch each other in the face while Katsura struggled to break them up.

While that was demanding their undivided attention, the world around them changed.

The white ceiling melted; folding in on itself and revealing an endless blue sky, grass as green as Granny Smith apples, and the Shouka Sonjuku school. There was not a trace of ash or decay to be seen.

Shouyou-sensei chuckled at the awestruck look on their faces when they finally absorbed their new surroundings. He'd been worried their old childhood school wouldn't impress them- they were adults now, after all - but it seemed his anxieties had been misplaced.

More to himself than anything, Takasugi muttered, "You know, I really missed this place."

"Here," Shouyou-sensei announced, "is where I spend my afterlife. It's been created from my memories, just as your memories have created the way you look. Which means," he glanced down at Takasugi, who had long since given up fighting with Gintoki and collapsed in the grass. "your eye doesn't have to stay that way, Shinsuke-kun."

The information seemed to startle Takasugi, who had completely forgotten about his eye. He placed his palm on the loose bandages, debating the possibilities of being able to change his appearance to whatever his heart desired, and then decided on the one form he remembered being happy in.

One minute, they were looking at an adult Takasugi, and the next; he was the ten year old in the purple haori they'd studied swordsmanship with. There was a defiant edge to his expression as he dared anyone to question his decision or laugh.

"Cute." Gintoki reached down and gleefully mussed his hair. "I always knew you were still a brat."

The "brat" kicked him in the shin again.

"I suppose you'd like to stay here then, Shinsuke-kun?" In answer, Takasugi nodded. Turning to the others, Shouyou-sensei opened his arms and said, "You all are also welcome to stay here if you so wish."

Scratching his head, Katsura asked what they were all thinking, "Do we have a choice, Sensei?"

"Of course" Shouyou-sensei replied. "Time was rewritten. Even those who died," Gintoki squirmed under his pointed stare, "can go back, though I doubt they'll remember what happened here or what happened in the five years that were rewritten. Knowing that, would you still like to go back?"

It wasn't an easy decision to make. From what they'd been shown, the world they would be rejoining already had a Katsura, a Sakamoto, and a Gintoki in it. As though they were ghosts, that world no longer truly had a place for them. Despite that, life seemed too fun to pass up. And he had his Joui Patriots to look after. He couldn't leave that to some other Katsura he didn't even know. Yes. He wanted to go back. He wanted to, and yet…

"Will I ever see you again?"

As always, their teacher didn't hesitate to answer in the only way that truly mattered. He gathered each of them in his arms, including Takasugi, and embraced them. "You will. No matter what happens, or how long it takes, we will definitely meet again." With a chuckle, he added, "Though do be sure to take a little longer than you did this time around. I've always wanted grandchildren."

The faces of his cute students lit up like a pair of flames. Mentally, he patted himself on the back. It was the job of a parent to embarrass their sons, after all.

Sakamoto barked a laugh. "I think I'm gonna head back, too. Who knows how the Kaientai is doing without me!"

"They're probably better off."

"I heard that, Kintoki."

For the first time, that name was actually something of a relief to hear. Since Sakamoto seemed to be more interested in studying a nearby bush than in seeing his reaction, Gintoki made sure to respond the way he always did.

"I've told you a million times." He responded with a warmness he couldn't keep entirely out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried. "It's Gintoki."

 

Once Katsura and Sakamoto were gone and Takasugi had run inside the dojo to talk with the other students who had chosen to stay, though they had died in the war, Shouyou-sensei and his first student sat side by side on the bridge Gintoki remembered fishing on when he, Katsura, and Takasugi were still brats.

For a while, they didn't speak. It was almost like catching up. They tuned in to each other's breathing, so whenever Gintoki's breath hitched or hastened, his teacher knew what he was thinking about.

In the end, Shouyou broke the silence first, "Maybe, by asking you to protect everyone, I made you grow up too quickly."

Narrowing his eyes, heart thumping in his chest, Gintoki asked, "Are you saying you shouldn't have, Sensei?"

Shouyou took one look at his paling face and laughed, "Definitely not. You've spent your life trying to keep your promise to me. I'd never say something as cruel as that." The only thing that could be heard in response to that was a relieved exhale through clenched teeth. Peering at his student, Shouyou wondered, "Did I scare you?"

After opening his mouth to deny it, Gintoki changed his mind. "The last thing I've ever wanted to do is to disappoint you, Sensei."

His teacher pondered this thoughtfully. Below them, a koi nipped at the sparkling surface of the lake, making little bubbles under their feet. A fresh breeze raced through the trees, singing a song of spring. As far as afterlives go, it wasn't a bad one.

"You want to leave, don't you, Gintoki?"

He jumped, startled out his reverie, "What makes you say that?"

Shouyou-sensei hummed. "I know what's it's like to miss one's students."

Images of smiling faces flitted through Gintoki's mind. Although he'd thought he'd be fine as long as they were alive, the truth was he wanted to laugh and smile along with them. Was that too greedy? His past self never caused the end of the world. It was alright for him to be by their side. But what about him? Could the demon that ended the world really hold children in his bloodstained hands?

Unbeknownst to him, his hands began to weep a crimson substance, dripping it into lake beneath them, where it diffused and dissipated. Shouyou-sensei reached over, brushed one of his hands, and by the time Gintoki looked up at him, the substance was gone.

Instead of explaining the unexpected touch, Shouyou-sensei asked his student a question. "Gintoki, do you see that fish swimming there? What was it five minutes ago?"

A slight frown painting his face, Gintoki replied, "A fish."

"And five minutes from now?"

"Still a fish, Sensei."

"Right. So, then, if a fish is a fish no matter the time, isn't a Gintoki a Gintoki no matter the time?"

He gently reached behind Gintoki's head, pressed his hand against his curls, and joined their foreheads together. "No matter what you do, you will always be my son. And I am proud of my son. I am proud of the life you built for yourself and I have never once regretted losing my life so you, Kotarou-kun, and Shinsuke-kun could live." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes. "I just want you to be happy, Gintoki. I want you to smile the way you do with those children." A bittersweet smile crossed his face when he finished, "Like I said to Kotarou-kun, this place is always welcome to you."

Gintoki placed one hand over his teacher's and confidently said, "I'll come back."

All of his indecision cleared, he returned the embrace, completely focused on burning his teacher's scent, his touch, his smile, and the sound of his voice into his mind.

He'd never forgotten.

Not even for a single second.

And he would never forget.

 

"Gin-chan! You've been in the bathroom forever! I need to brush my teeth!"

Gintoki stared at the mirror, his toothbrush hanging absently from his mouth. There was a feeling, like something tickling at the tip of his tongue or the back of his mind, and it was driving him crazy. Mussing his hair, he spat into the sink and tried to remember the dream he'd had last night.

The girl howling at his door suddenly quieted when she didn't get a response, and it made him nervous. "Gin-chan… did you have a bad dream last night?"

Oh.

Jeez, he'd made those two numbskulls worried again. With exaggerated energy, he swung open the door, took in her sleepy, concerned face, and mussed her red hair with the largest grin he could muster. "I'm perfectly fine, Kagura." Then he sidestepped her and shoved her into the bathroom with his foot. "Get in there and brush your teeth. Your breath alone could kill Goku."

"Hey-"

It was with practiced nonchalance that he slammed the door in her face. When he turned around, he saw Shinpachi hurrying to put away a mug of hot cocoa and a blanket. He snatched the hot cocoa and then planted himself at his desk. Sure, he was still in his pajamas, but his customers were probably used to stuff like that by now, and Shinpachi would nag him into getting dressed soon.

For now, he was happy looking at the life he'd built and the people he had in it.

_I am proud of my son._

"Can you see me, Sensei?" He said to the air.

He watched Shinpachi fumble and fall as he tried to force the blanket back into the closet. He watched Kagura burst from the bathroom like a bull, breaking the door. He thought of Otose downstairs, Tama-chan, Catherine, Tae, and the million other crazy girls and guys in his life, including those bastards at the Shinsengumi, and he felt the grin light up his face.

Looking down at Earth, a man in a grey yukata grinned back.


End file.
